


Of Strange Travelers, or, A Journey Through the End of the First Age

by Kestral



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, Thrilling Intent (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Gen, tags will be updated as story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2018-08-27 05:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8389846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kestral/pseuds/Kestral
Summary: The characters of Thrilling Intent wander through the world Tolkien created. Times are grim in the year 537, but fortunately for these do-gooder-goofballs, they have each other.(You do not need to have read the Silmarillion to understand this, although some things will make more sense if you have.)





	1. The Adventure Begins: part 1

Was she doing the right thing? She kept telling herself that she was, pushing down the doubt again and again. It was her right to leave. She wasn't abandoning anyone. They couldn't keep her there.

Aesling turned the skewered rabbit meat, her stomach growling. Stopping to hunt had been dangerous. Lighting a fire had been dangerous. But her rations had run out and going on without would be more dangerous. 

She closed her eyes and held her breath against the smoke that shifted to blow directly into her face, the hot air thick but nice. That was when she heard a snap.

In the woods behind her, someone or something had just broken a twig. 

She shifted away from the smoke, and brought her hand to rest on the hilt of her sword. She tried to stifle a cough, and then realized there was no point. With the light of her cooking fire, anything close by knew where she was.

There were some more snaps. Whatever was out there was coming towards her. 

Silently, soft shoes carefully shifting across the ground, she faced the dark woods. Blinking the firelight from her eyes, she waited, and listened. 

Whatever it was got closer. It wasn't large, no bigger than a human, and walked on two legs. But she had heard tales about what lived on this side of the mountains. That meant nothing. 

Aesling unsheathed her sword.

In the darkness, someone cleared their throat to speak.

Before she realized what she was doing, she lunged at the source of the noise. She tripped over an unseen root, and tackled the stranger. They both hit the ground. The stranger scrambled to get out from under her, but her training was coursing through her. She pushed them down and picked her sword back up. The stranger tried to run get up to run, but she grabbed their cloak and pulled them backwards. She moved, getting on top of them, and held her sword pointed at their neck.

The stranger said something in a language that almost sounded like Quenya. Something vaguely reassuring, with their empty hands limp and visible. Ashe focused her ear, but the words were too different.

"Ah," Aesling said, feeling taken aback. But she hardened herself. No weakness. "Why were you approaching my fire?" She said carefully, her Quenya rough and half-known.

"Quenya, huh," the stranger said softly to themself, as if taken off guard. "Because I wanted some company," they answered, Quenya coming as smoothly off their tongue as the other language. "The only other things that are out here are gangs of orcs and a bunch of crazy humans that seem to be chasing somebody. You seemed the safest." They swallowed nervously, aware of the blade. "I really mean you no harm and I'm sorry for coming over to your fire I'll go away and I won't bother you."

Aesling furrowed her brow, having only understood half of that. She pulled her sword away and sheathed it, and the stranger took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she said. "I wish I had seen you meant no harm before having attacked." She winced at the poor quality of her words.

"Oh," the stranger said, noticing it as well. "What's your native tongue?"

"Lossoth," Aesling answered after a moment of struggling to remember what the language was called in Quenya.

"Can't say that I know that one," the stranger sighed.

"You may join me," Aesling said, helping the stranger to their feet. They were taller than her, but their frame was surprisingly light. They should've been shivering, given how light their cloak was, but their hand was warm.

"The humans you saw, how far away were they?" She asked, walking back to the fire.

"Just on the other side of that hill," they gestured behind them. "Why do you–oh," they realized something. "Are you the person they're chasing?"

"Yes. I do not wish to–" Aesling gasped as they stepped into the small ring of firelight and she saw the stranger for the first time.

She had assumed they were an elf, given their language, but her eyes went straight to the pair of small red pointed horns that grew from the stranger's forehead that proved her assumption wrong. 

She stumbled backwards in her haste to get away, her nerves singing once more. 

"Woah woah woah," the stranger put their hands up. "What's wrong?"

"You have horns," she said afraid. Had she been tricked? "What are you?"

"Your eyes glow," the stranger answered casually. "What are _you?_ "

Aesling froze, unsure of how to answer. Something about this person put her on edge, but that was probably just the distrust of strangers that had been drilled into her, one of the things she was trying to run from. But that wasn't the main problem with answering their question. 

"I'm a human."

The stranger blinked, raising their eyebrows. "Really?" They said, surprised.

"Yes, I," she felt heat rise to her face, pinpricks in the corner of her eyes threatened to blur her vision. Not a good time for tears, but she was too tired for this. "I don't know," she said slowly, unhappy to admit it.

"And I'm not rightly sure about myself either," the stranger said. This did not seem to bother them.

Aesling forced herself to relax. That was comforting, to not be the only unknown out there. "My name is Aesling," she said. "She/her pronouns."

_Wait_ , adrenaline suddenly rushed her again. _What would they say to that? The people of Meathe had taken so long to understand. She knew nothing of the outside world. Nothing beyond biased and cruel little stories! But which ones had truth? She she have let them assumed wrong? Would that have been safer? Better?_

"And I'm Markus Velafi," they stretched their hand towards her. "He/him pronouns," he added as an afterthought. "May I call you Ashe?"

"Do so," she nodded, relieved. Unsure of what to do with the hand, she turned back to the fire, checking on the rabbit again.

 

Whatever Ashe was, Markus observed, she looked like shit. Her hair, which he hazard to guess was as white as snow, was matted and the color of exceedingly trampled snow. Not that he'd ever seen snow trampled enough, but he had an excellent imagination. Even beneath her thick fur coat, she shivered next to her small fire. Her hands were cracked from the cold, her knuckles scabbed from fights, and her fingers thin. Her eyes, illuminating the dark circles underneath them, focused on the rabbit.

Her skin was dark like the Easterlings of this area, but her face shape was completely different. Her clothing too, well made but worn, was unfamiliar. Markus realized that not only did he not speak Lossoth, he didn't even know where it was that people spoke Lossoth. But all of that could be learned in time. There were more pressing matters.

"Hey," he said. "Are you okay? Do you need help?"

Ashe started, as if she had forgotten he was there. "I'm fine."

Okay so this lady was clearly bullheaded, and he had horns. "Let me rephrase that. I can help you. Look," he leaned towards her. "I don't know what's going on, but I do know that things don't seem right. There's a lot of people chasing you, and they must have been doing it for a while, given that the nearest village is weeks away."

"Eight days," Ashe interrupted him. "Nearest village is eight days."

Markus blinked. Huh, he went over his knowledge of geography, and then realized that she didn't look much like the people from around this parts. "Did you come over the mountains?" He asked slowly, not quite able to believe it.

Ashe nodded. 

He raise his eyebrows, revising his opinion of her. "You lived by the Helcaraxë? Sorry, not important. So you've been running for eight days, over rough terrain. And if you'll pardon me, you look like you're wearing thin and your pursuers are right on your tail."

She glared at him.

Markus continued, "I've learned much from the elves in my time; I could help you through these woods tomorrow in such a way that we would leave no trail to follow." He smiled encouragingly. Technically, neither of his statements were lies. 

He watched as Ashe's face, which had previously been closed to him, changed as she slowly worked through the meaning of his words. "You can help me leave no trail?" She said, hardly believing it.

"Of course," Markus said. "It's just a little woodcraft, some magic." He paused, recalling that this type of magic was not his area of expertise. "I'm gonna need some time to prepare it. I'll take second watch?"

Ashe glared at him. She probably wasn't going to sleep at all. In fact, he realized, he was asking a lot of her. She was risking a lot to trust some stranger who just stumbled out of the woods and insisted on helping her.

And, as he settled down to sleep, he realized he was risking a lot too. There was nothing to stop her from slitting his throat and taking all of his stuff, except the escape he promised her. Perhaps, he reflected drowsily, his body slowing as he told it to sleep, he would need to be more careful the next night. But Ashe seemed nice. He preferred to be a trusting fool than a safe hermit, after all.

 

 

 


	2. The Adventure Begins: part 2

The next day, Aesling found that the forest looked different. The shadows didn't quite line up with the trees and where the sun was in the sky. Instead, they twisted, almost as if they were forming a path, and then breaking apart as she and Markus passed them by. 

Markus was clearly in high spirits, as he hummed and sang to himself throughout the morning. She did not share his energy. Dizzied by the shifting forms, she was constantly checking for the sun between the broad leaves of these southern trees, anxious that she was going to lead them in circles.

"Hey Ashe," Markus said, stopping his song for the first time since they started walking. "Do you want to stop for lunch?"

"Stop?" Ashe rose her eyebrows in incredulity. "Why for lunch?" Then, as an afterthought, she added, "What does lunch mean?"

"Lunch? The meal you eat in the middle of the day?"

Aesling whirled on him. "Are you not taking this seriously?" She hissed, not daring to raise her voice to the shout building within her. "Or you don't _need_ to take this seriously; you're some guy from the woods!"

"I–" Markus said, taken aback. 

Ashe stepped towards him, and he backed away. "Heed me," she said, her voice laced with fury. "I don't want to be found." She wanted to say more, perhaps explain herself, or demand an explanation from him, but she was too tired to have conversations in a language she barely understood. 

Markus swallowed nervously. "Okay, it was just a suggestion after all. But I swear to you, it will seem to anyone tracking you that you disappeared after last night's fire."

Ashe gave him a nod. She'd believe it when saw it. She turned to continue walking, when she realized something Markus's words implied.

"Do you have food?" She turned back around to look at her strange traveling companion.

He smiled as if something she had said amused him. "Yes I do."

"I want food," she said, trying to keep her voice from quavering. Gods that was an understatement.

Markus laughed as he shimmied off the pack under his cloak."If you're going to eat my food, we're taking a break. I can't sing while eating, after all."

Ashe thought for a moment. Well, they wouldn't be resting for _too_ long. "Okay," she said, sitting down.

Markus flopped to the ground next to her, and didn't comment when she scooted away. He pulled out a biscuit and tossed it to her, and then pulled out another for himself. "They don't taste great," he warned. "I got them from a dwarf a _long_ time ago, but they're still edible."

"Dwarf?" Ashe asked before she began the difficult task of taking a bite out of the stale bread. 

"They're a race of people," Markus explained. "They're short and have excellent beards. I really should be teaching you Sindarin, not Quenya."

"Why? What's Sindarin?" Ashe mumbled around the food.

"The language is actually called Eglathrin, Sindarin is just the Quenya name for it. Most people that you will meet that you'd like to talk to speak Eglathrin, it's sort of become the common language of the free peoples. It and Quenya are elvish languages, but the elves that speak Quenya aren't exactly popular to say the least. And while the two languages certainly have similarities, they..."

Markus continued on, happy to monologue, and Ashe was happy to listen. She had run away to escape violence, sure, but as she ate, she remembered she had another hunger. She wanted to learn. To learn as much as she could, to see as many things as were out there. And for the first time, it actually seemed possible. 

 

Markus was smug with accomplishment. The spell had worked. With her pursuers lost, Ashe slowed her maddened pace to something reasonable. Still she moved on towards wherever she was going, but the long marches with little to no food she must have been doing had ended. She hunted, made traps, gathered nuts and herbs, dug for roots. And Markus did his best to be useful. As long as he was useful, she seemed content to keep him around. 

He showed Ashe how to fish on their third day of travel, and for the first time heard her talk about where she was from. When the Lossothi wanted to fish, he learned, they strapped sticks to their feet and took a weeklong trip out on the Helcaraxë until the ice got thin enough to cut a hole. Even with her small Eglathrin vocabulary she spoke confidently, picking up new words quickly and with surprising ease. 

The memory of fishing at least seemed to be a good one, but there was hidden pain there. Perhaps merely by association, every memory of what Ashe had run from was not wholly a good memory.

Then she ended the pleasant dialogue by trying to show him how to gut and debone a fish. 

Skeletons just aren't natural. Nothing should look like that.

Fortunately, a pile of fruit sitting on the forest floor distracted him from his skeletal musings.

"Hey Ashe."

"Hm?"

"Look over there."

Ashe followed his pointing finger.

"That is a trap," she stated.

Markus rolled his eyes. "I know that, Ashe. Obviously." Or at least, obviously now that she pointed it out. "Piles of fruit don't just happen. But what I also know is how to get it without setting off the trap." He winked.

"You see," he continued. "If you look carefully, you can spot the ropes hidden under the leaves. Now I've done this plenty of times before. One could say that I'm a bit of an expert, if it didn't sound incredibly dull to be an expert at stealing food from traps left for animals. You see, first we need to check the direction of the wind." Markus licked his finger and stuck it up in the air.

"It's northeast," Ashe said.

Markus ignored her, and stared at the trap in front of him, trying to understand how it worked. Rope ran off in several directions, but he saw no obvious trigger.

"The wind is blowing northeast," Markus concluded.

Ashe stamped her foot and sighed.

"And with the moisture in the air what it is," Markus said thoughtfully. These sorts of traps were for catching wild animals, and he was smarter than that. True, he had talked to some fascinating squirrels, but he was Markus Velafi. "Yes, I should definitely approach from this direction." That was probably as much stalling as he could get away with.

Not for the first, and certainly not for the last time, Markus wondered what his mouth had gotten him into.

He crept forwards, mindful of the ropes seeming strewn across the ground. Tip-toeing, prancing about, he made his way to the fruit, never touching the rope.

He turned his head back around and waggled his eyebrows at Ashe.

She crossed her arms and settled back her weight onto one leg, cocking one skeptical eyebrow in response.

Markus bent down and picked up the fruit.

Immediately, air whistled past his ears as ropes catapulted upwards, twisting around him and taking him up into the trees with them.

"Markus!"

"I'm fine!" Markus called down from the canopy. 

"Markus," Ashe said crossly, walking to stand beneath him. "You said you know how to do this."

Markus threw a fruit down at her. It bounced off of her head and she hissed in annoyance.

As Ashe began to look for a way to get him down, he realized something. "If you can find a way to get me down without dropping me, I'd like that!" 

"You'd deserve it!" Ashe called back.

 

Ashe and Markus emerged from the bush they had been crouching in for the past hour as the men finally moved away. Ashe cracked her neck, sore from the cramped quarters.

"Why did we need to hide?" She asked Markus.

"Many of the people here are servants of Morgoth, and many that aren't will still beat you bloody and enslave you without a second thought," Markus answered, his voice still hushed.

Ashe sucked her breath between her teeth at the mention of Morgoth. "The dark one? He's real?"

Markus gasped, and then coughed out a leaf. He stared at her in disbelief.

"I have heard tales," Ashe said defensively. "But you can't trust what you hear."

"If Morgoth's arm hasn't reached the far north, the why did you leave?" Markus stared at her as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Ashe crossed her arms. "What I do is not yours to wonder about."

Markus placed his head in his hands, and sighed. He looked up, and looked her right in the eyes, his blue eyes bright and his gaze serious. "Ashe, you need to know this. Morgoth is very real, and his power is growing by the day. 80 or so years ago, the siege that locked him in his fortress of Angband was broken, and since then his forces have spread. There is only one elven kingdom left in these lands, the dwarves are in hiding, and the men are scattered and enslaved. Yesterday, when we crossed that river, we entered into what was once called Dor-Lómin, ruled by the noble house of Hador. Now it has no name and what remains of Hador's people are slaves of slaves. This is a land of people loosing a war, Ashe, and I hadn't told you sooner because I thought you knew."

Ashe looked at the ground and clenched her fists. She would ask Markus to define many of those words later, but she understood more than enough. "I just wanted to be free, to live in peace, to see the world."

Markus sighed again. "We all wish that, but the best people like us can do is outrun him, or join those already in hiding and hope we are insignificant enough to escape his notice. And well," Markus grinned, "a life of hiding doesn't suit me."

"Me neither," Ashe said softly, unsure of what it was she was stumbling into.

"If you keep going south," Markus said thoughtfully, "You will have to cross the land that is at the heart of this war, but after that, you may be able to outrun Morgoth's reach for a time. As far as I know, he has not yet turned his gaze over the Blue Mountains."

Ashe nodded. She wasn't sure where these mountains were, but she could go south.

"How long are you going to travel with me?" She asked.

Markus shrugged. "Perhaps as long as you'll have me, or until you reach the Blue Mountains. I cannot leave Beleriand yet, I feel I must see it to its end." He seemed sad and distant as he said this, in a way that told Ashe not to push for answers. 

 

"You know what I am learning?" Ashe said as they trudged along.

"Eglathrin?" Markus said, somehow retaining his cheer. He himself wasn't so sure why he was cheerful. Perhaps a day in the rain with a friend was just much better than a day in the rain without one. "You've improved a lot over the past few days."

"Oh, well, thank you," Ashe said, smiling a little. "But I am learning that rain is terrible."

"Oh yeah?" Markus said. Then he sighed, "yeah. Nothing like being out in it all day and night to really make you appreciate a roof and a fire."

"No," Ashe said. "That's not what I mean. Where I'm from, it didn't rain. I've heard about rain, but we only had snow, or sometimes sleet when the weather was warm."

Markus whistled through his teeth. "Sleet when it was _warm_ , that's utterly ridiculous."

"It's better than this southern weather!" Ashe shouted, loosing her temper. "Snow is nice! With snow, keep it out of your cloths, and you don't get wet! You just brush it off of you, and you stay warm just fine! And if you need shelter, you can, how do you say, dig! But rain," she waved her hands about. "Fucking rain! You can't do anything about it! You're wet! It's so much warmer here, but I'm cold all the time because I'm as wet as a fucking seal. I'm tired, I'm wet, and all the wood is wet so we can't make a fire. And all the game is hiding in their dry fucking dens because only a couple of idiots would be wandering about the woods on a day like today!" She kicked a tree.

The tree shook, leaves spilling collected water down on the pair. 

"Ack!" Spluttered Markus. "Oh come on!" He turned around to look at his traveling companion when she didn't keep moving.

Aesling stood, mouth moving in wordless frustration, water dripping from her like she was one of the very clouds causing her ire.

Markus couldn't help but laugh at the sight. Then he turned to run as Ashe screamed at him in a language that he didn't know. Likely uttering profanity and threats of violence, Ashe chased him through the sodden woods.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh you all have been so nice! When I first started writing this fic, I never expected to share it, and I also assumed that there wouldn't be much of an audience because reading the Silmarillion is not something done casually. But as I wrote and shared funny moments with others, I got more excited about making this into something I could share. And Markus is excellent at info dumping.   
> Join us next chapter for more Thrilling Intent vs. Inclement Weather!


	3. The Adventure Begins: part 3

Markus wasn't sure how it happened. They should have had some sort of warning; he asked the birds and rats to let him know if anything was approaching their campsite. If he had thought about it, he would have realized that this close to Tol-in-Gaurhoth he could not trust the animals. But what with the long trudge through the rain of the past few days, he had not thought about that then, and he was not thinking now.

He woke up to rough hands grabbing him. Instinctually, he contorted, wiggling out of their grasp. Kicking, he landed face-first in a puddle. That woke him. When he came up spluttering, he got his first glance at what was happening.

Orcs were everywhere. Feet churned up mud as they charged the little shelter that the rough overhang had offered. There, Ashe was scrambling to her feet, drawing her sword not quite fast enough to block and incoming swing.

Markus spat mud from his mouth, the first sounds of his song sloppy as he gave himself no time to compose clearer notes. He called out to the swinging sword, reminding it of the oppressive heat of the furnace from which it came.

The orc let out as scream of pain as the sword glowed red-hot. It flew from the clawed fingers and stuck into the loam wall. Steam rose about it as Ashe finished drawing her own weapon and quickly thrust it into her attacker's stomach. 

Markus raised his voice carefully, wrapping the tune around so that Ashe's sword didn't listen, but the others did. Expanding his awareness, he saw what was around him in ways that his eyes could not. The darkness and the rain meant nothing to him now, he could sense all that was around him.

Orcs were screaming, chaos breaking loose as their own weapons turned against them. Some began to flee as Ashe pressed forwards, killing those that did not back away quickly enough. She was deeply skilled and brutal with her short sword; bodies beginning to pile about her. The energy that Markus had always known was inside her sat closer to her skin now, unreal muscles tensed and ready to pull on this other force. 

A larger orc, crowned with a strange headdress that trailed ribbons, stepped closer to the chaos. "Heed me!" They called out in their own foul tongue. "Get rid of everything made of metal. We are strong enough to fight without it. I, Nerak, will show you the way!"

Nerak undid their scabbard and tossed away their shield. More orcs came behind them, clatters of metal hitting the ground with each arrival. Nerak held up their hand to halt the others, then fixed their gaze on Markus.

"The Lieutenant of the Dark One will reward us for these creatures, take them alive!" Nerak called. They snarled as they began to charge, and fear dropped into the pit of Markus's stomach.

As Nerak came towards him, he tried to think of what to do. Normally, he just fled, but with orcs on all sides and Ashe to think about, that wasn't an option. 

Nerak pulled back a fist, and Markus clenched his own. The orc swung at him and he ducked under the blow. He rose, his fist coming up towards the orc's chin at lightning speeds.

His hand connected, and there was a crunch. Time froze there. The orc, their headdress knocked slightly askew, purple ribbons wrapping about rain-slicked skin, grinned at him. Pain shot through his wrist.

Swiftly, the orc spun him, pushing him to the ground. The bulk of his enemy settled on him.

He began a new song, weak and breathless, but laced with power nonetheless. Yet within the first few notes, the orc laughed. Grabbing the back of his head roughly, they pressed his face into the mud.

Markus was aware of the orcs around him picking up their cooled weapons, and pressing down on Ashe. With mud filling his mouth and nose, he struggled. Flopped about like the fish he had pulled from the river. He wished he could warn her. Tell her to surrender and live. If she fought to hard, they might decide...that...she wasn't worth......the....effor..r... ..r.... ...

 

Markus awoke slowly, coming into awareness that his mouth felt terrible. The precious space that did not have mud was filled with a tightly stretched cloth that wrapped around the back of his head. He breathed through his sore nose carefully, fighting the urge to gag. As he continued the slow march towards full consciousness, various other pains and discomforts rushed up on him.

He was lying on hard rough stone, and his right wrist throbbed against a metal cuff that connected it to his left. A short length of chain ran from them to connect to a bolt set into the rock. His legs, also shackled, felt stiff and bruised. He tried to comfort himself with the fact that discounting his hand, it didn't feel like he was injured beyond a standard battering. 

Well, it wasn't like those bonds would hold Markus Velafi. How had he even gotten into this situation in the first place?

Ashe.

He cast his mind out quickly, trying with desperation to gain a sense of what was around him, and if Ashe was there, and if Ashe was alive. 

There she was, chained as he, but she had managed to maneuver herself into a sitting position. She was curled up, her knees against her chest, her back against the cave wall. She was badly beaten, with rough cloth bandages wrapped about her, but each shuttering breath that poured forth from her frame enforced how very alive she was. 

They were in the back of a small cave, with at least a dozen orcs between them and the exit. A few slept, but most were awake. One exceptionally large orc loitered right by the entrance, their eyes alert and watching for something coming, squinting through the sheets of rain that dimmed the light of day. Their hands were relaxed, but near their weapons.

He thought to move, to make signs of waking, so that Ashe would know he was okay, but stopped when he felt other approaching. 

The orc from the night before, Nerak, stepped into the cave.

"This one was defending the villagers, took out a great number of our own by himself," they said as several orcs stepped past them dragging an unconscious body. "Keep him with the other weirdos. We will be awarded greatly for such anomalies."

The newcomers shuffled through the tightly packed cavern, throwing the prisoner down by Markus and Ashe. They shackled them, and left. 

"Our main host moves at nightfall," Nerak addressed the room. "You will move at midnight, and go by a different road. Keep your prisoners separate from the main group. Do not mention the others in a tongue they understand.

All the orcs saluted. "Yes Lady Nerak," they said in unison.

Nerak turned on her heels and left.

_Well,_ Markus thought. _Clearly they didn't know they had Markus Velafi, speaker of many tongues, in the back of their cave. Not that many people actually know who Markus Velafi is._ He ignored the second part of that thought, and began to move.

He groaned, tried to stretch, and acted surprised when his bonds prevented him. He opened his eyes, blinking, scrunching his eyebrows in confusion.

"Markus," Ashe hissed. "Markus."

Markus rolled to face her.

"Markus, are you okay?" 

Unable to speak, Markus raised his eyebrows at her.

"Gods Markus it's a yes or no question," Ashe said, exasperated.

Markus nodded.

Ashe sighed in relief.

Markus wished he could ask her the same, ask her was was happening, tell her what he'd heard. But all that would have to wait.

"I can get us out of here," Ashe whispered, glancing at the guards behind them. 

Markus jerked his head at the new prisoner, still unconscious. With his eyes open, he saw that they were young and clad in a red robe. Their long hair was in chaos about them, wrapped and tangled around their face.

"You want to bring them?" Ashe whispered.

Markus nodded as vigorously as he dared.

Ashe thought for a moment. Markus knew how dangerously practical she could be, and for a moment he was sure she was going to say no.

"Okay," she said. "Let's hope they wake up soon."

 

Markus wasn't sure how Ashe was planning on breaking them out, and he wasn't going to leave it all to her. He curled up, blocking what he was doing from view with his body, and focused.

He wasn't able to sing to the metal, to pull on the memory of heat, so instead he called on his own fire. His core was always burning so he pulled on that heat. He let his slow breathing become bellows as he drew the heat into his hands. He grabbed onto the chain of his shackles, and pushed the burning energy into the metal. 

At first he thought it wasn't working, that the metal only warmed due to the heat of his own body. But then the heat grew. It grew to the heat of a campfire, then to the core of a bonfire, then to a forge. He couldn't see it, but he knew the metal was glowing red. The heat wanted to burn, it wanted to destroy him, to hurt him, but he reminded himself that it was his own fire. It could not hurt him because it belonged to him. It was his.

The metal gave in and melted, links pulled apart like wax by their own weight.

He stayed curled up to hide his handiwork.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the end of our first arc! Next chapter will start us on a new journey: The Adventure Began.  
> I can't tell you when the next chapter will be posted, because I'm gonna do nanowrimo.


	4. The Adventure Began: part 1

Markus looked up when he heard a groan from the red prisoner. They rose their hands to their head, curling up to touching it softly. They patted it over, wincing a few times. Slowly, they sat up, and with strangely calm brown eyes they examined their surroundings.

Markus waggled his eyebrows in what he hoped was a friendly manner when the stranger's gaze fell on him. 

The red prisoner gave him a small nod of recognition for the gesture. 

Ashe glanced at the guards, then leaned towards the stranger. "We're going to escape," she whispered. "Will you come?"

The red prisoner nodded.

"Okay, on three then."

Markus shook his head. If they escaped after nightfall, there'd be fewer orcs to fight through.

"What?" Ashe looked at him confused. "Why not–"

"Hey!" And orc shouted at them, Eglathrin turned rough and hateful on their tongue. "What gave you the idea you could be so chatty?"

Ashe said nothing, but stared up at the large figure making their way towards the back of the cave. Her eyes narrowed, then she averted her gaze.

"What? You've got nothing to say now?" The orc leaned down and grabbed Ashe's chin, yanking her face up towards theirs.

Ashe raised her eyes from the floor, and stared up. Unflinching, she looked right into the orc's eyes, fury blazing just behind her irises. She said nothing, and made no move. Pinpricks of red rose on her cheek under the orc's claws.

"Bah!" The orc snorted in disgust. They released Ashe, throwing her head backwards, where it hit the wall with an alarming crack. "I guess you like your tongue. Pity that, I've been thinking of starting a collection."

They turned around and walked back to where they had been loitering before. 

Ashe slowly righted herself from the position she had been thrown into. She blinked, and Markus saw with relief that her eyes retained the sharp focus they always had. She watched the orcs, waiting.

When she judged the time right, she leaned towards Markus. "You have a plan?"

Markus nodded.

"You give signal." Ashe leaned back, and settled in to wait. 

 

Gregor waited uneasily as the dim light of the rainy day dimmed further. He kept shifting about, trying to keep his muscles from falling asleep and cramping up. If the three of them were going to escape, he'd need to be ready to run. Not that the other two were doing the same as him. They were both hunched up, one against the wall and the other on the floor. Clearly they knew nothing about being prisoners. 

He wasn't sure what to think of these two, and wasn't sure why he had been put in a cave with them instead of kept with the other prisoners. Both of them were strange; he wasn't sure how to categorize them. 

Glowing eyes and strange markings, horns and a tail, these were traits of monsters. But they weren't being treated like monsters. Sure, orcs chained the monsters that where wild. The barely controllable monsters that orcs simply prodded towards the defenseless and then got out of the way, those were the ones that got chained. But these two weren't wild, and if the monsters could talk and think, they lead the orcs. 

Therefore, Gregor concluded, his fellow prisoners must not be monsters. And if they weren't monsters, there was a decent chance they were okay people. 

Time passed, and Gregor began to worry that Plans-Guy did not actually have a plan. Day passed nigh-imperceptibly into night, and time wore on after that. Just as Gregor was really beginning to wonder, everything started to happen.

Somehow, in the chaos, a little thought at the back of Gregor's mind said that Plans-Guy needed signal defined for them. 

Plans-Guy leapt to their feet, revealing that the links that bound their hands together and to the floor had been destroyed. One of their hands flew to their cheek. -– Orcs began to scramble to their feet, hands finding their weapons. -– A crack resounded through the cave. Green lightning coursed around the body of Whisperer. Something started to rush into the air. –- The gag fell, as if it had been cut. Plans spat mud. –– It was a hand. A hand made out of grey stone that seemed to sing of a far off mountain, and centuries out in the weather. Whisperer leaned just out of the way as it slammed into the ground, fingers closing around chain. –- Plans stood there with his feet still shackled and his back to the orcs that scrambled to get to the three of them. They opened their mouth and screamed a single note. -– Just as the hand began to tug at Whisperer's chain, all metal in the cave shattered. Shards flew through the air in a tinkling cacophony. 

Gregor turned, curling to protect his face from the peppering of metal splinters. 

"Markus what the fuck!" Whisperer shouted from behind the rock hand. "Would a little warning have hurt you?"

"I was literally gagged Ashe!" Markus shouted back, turning to face the momentarily stunned orcs. He balled his hands up into fists, and took an obviously unstable stance.

The large orc roared, and all of the orcs roared with them. Their own clawed fingers reaching out, they rushed forwards.

And were met with a mossy hand. Open palmed, it slammed into the horde, rushing towards the mouth of the cave.

"Go, go, go!" Ashe shouted, running after the hand. 

Markus and Gregor followed. They darted out towards the wet night. 

A hand closed around Gregor's ankle, and he toppled. Hitting the ground, he twisted. He lashed out with his free foot, connecting with the orc's face. The orc snarled but the grip loosened.

He scrambled, his feet slipping on slick mud tracked across stone. Around him orcs were getting to their feet.

A hand reached out in front of him. He looked up it, seeing dark bruises and darker markings until saw Ashe's face.

"Come on!" Ashe waved their hand.

He took it, his hand clasping their wrist. 

Ashe leaned back and pulled, yanking Gregor to his feet with surprising strength. They didn't release him as they turned to run.

Together the two of them ran out into the pelting rain. 

"This way!" Markus called from the darkness.

Gregor and Ashe turned, following the voice. They rushed blindly forwards. Gregor found himself thinking about what trust was, when the darkness made everything seem like a gaping hole. His feet pounded against what his eyes told him was the void. The only lights were the small figures that danced in front of his eyes as they tried uselessly to see something, and the glow that illuminated only Ashe's cheekbones. 

Branches and twigs whipped them, and underbrush tangled about their feet as they half-ran-half stumbled forwards. 

"Ashe stop!" 

Ashe halted sharply at the urgency in the voice of Markus coming from a little ways off in the darkness, and Gregor did his best to cut his feet into the ground, lowering his weight. He gripped Ashe's arm tightly.

"What the fuck Ashe! There's a cliff right there! What are you doing?"

"I can't see in the dark! Why'd you wait until night?"

Footsteps were approaching from multiple directions. From behind them, the ruckus of many bodies in pursuit.

"You can't see in the dark?" Markus said, closer to them now. "Your eyes glow!" 

"I know!" Ashe said, frustration coloring her voice.

"Here." In the darkness there was the sound of one hand grabbing onto another. "Follow me."

Markus took off, pulling Ashe with them, and Gregor with Ashe. 

Guided by these strangers, Gregor ran.

 

They ran through the night, slowing only at dawn's first light.

Markus collapsed to the ground, gasping in ragged breaths. Ashe leaned against a tree, their chest pumping. Gregor too, was exhausted, even with the tough training regimen of the Outriders to back him. 

"We can't stop for long," Ashe gasped, their heavy accent and lack of air making their words difficult to understand. "They'll be on us again soon. Markus, can you do that thing again?"

Markus wheezed instead of answering.

"You need a moment?"

Gregor took a deep breath. "My name is Gregor Heartway," he announced. "Last of the Outriders."

No look of recognition at the name crossed either of their faces.

"I'm Aesling, or Ashe, I guess." They paused, awkwardly. "She/her pronouns."

Gregor blinked. "Are you saying you're a girl?"

Ashe swallowed, "yes."

"Okay." Gregor shrugged.

The tension that had swiftly been building in Ashe dissipated just as fast as it had appeared. 

Markus rolled over, stretching up their left hand. "Markus Velafi," they offered, breathlessly. "He/him pronouns, in case you're wondering."

Gregor shook his hand, Markus's grip reminding him remarkably of bread dough. No calluses, which meant no experience with using weapons. How had he survived thus far?

Ashe took a deep breath and brushed some dirt off her clothing. "Okay, so, things may look bad, but provided we can lose the orcs, we can survive this. True, we've lost all of our belongings that were weren't wearing, plus my they took my coat, but I think I can make some traps, and there's way more game here than where I'm from."

"We need to go back," Gregor stated. "Or at least, I need to go back. I guess you guys can do whatever."

Ashe stared at him, open mouthed. "Why? Did I understand that right? You want to return, without any weapons or supplies, to where all the orcs are?"

"Yep."

"Why? You'd get yourself killed!"

"Or imprisoned again," Markus pointed out.

"The orcs had other prisoners. Just farmers who were trying to live peacefully. I was the only one defending them, and, well," Gregor shrugged. He didn't need to tell them how that had worked out. "Oh, plus the purple orc took my glaive."

"Aw shit," Markus sat up a little. "Gregor, they're going to have quite the lead on us I'm afraid. They left at nightfall, and orcs drive their prisoners fast."

"How do you–"

"How do you know that?" Ashe interrupted.

"Oh, I speak orkish. Nerak, the purple orc," he nodded to Gregor, "was talking about it. That's actually why I had us wait until so late, the main host was leaving, so we'd have a better chance of escaping. Of course," Markus paused to breathe, "I had also assumed that Ashe could see in the dark."

"Okay, so let's not assume anything about what we can or can't do. Markus, can you hide our trail?"

"Yes. It will be easier, now that I've done it before."

Ashe nodded, and then paused. "Wait, when we met, did you seriously offer to do something that you weren't sure if you could do or not?"

Markus shrugged. "It _seemed_ like something I could do."

Ashe said something under her breath that was most certainly a cuss word. "Well, we're going to need to be more sure of ourselves if we're going to go after a large number of orcs with no supplies."

"Wait, what?" Gregor looked at the two of them, surprised.

Markus was smiling approvingly at Ashe. "Well yes," he said, picking himself up from the ground. "If people need our help, then who are we to turn our backs?"

Gregor felt himself begin to grin. Just when he thought he was out of luck, things always seemed to turn around. "I'm glad we're friends."

A look of confusion crossed over his two new friend's faces.

"Yes," Markus said hesitantly. Then any confusion or awkwardness he felt seemed to melt away. "Yes, Gregor I am glad we're friends, for friends are hard to find in these troubled times."

"Okay," Ashe rocked from her toes to her heels and back again. "And I'm glad we've got that over with. Now we need to get moving again, and form a plan."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How exciting! The main trio have found each other and have their mission!  
> We also now have two characters that have different names than their canon names. This will happen with various characters for various different reasons throughout the fic. One of the more common reasons, later, is that elves don't use z or k. That of course is not the problem for Mr. Heartway or Nerak, but other characters later on, yes.


	5. The Adventure Began: part 2

 "This is not a plan."

"Come on Ashe, this is totally a plan."

"It's...It's _enough_ of a plan."

"Guys! Be quiet!"

"You started it."

"I know, and I regret everything."

The three of them lay at the top of a bluff, looking down at the small party of orcs that not long ago had been their captors. They were just waking from where they had made camp beside a tributary of Sirion, squinting their eyes against the soft light of dusk.

"Okay," Markus whispered, focusing on the task at hand instead of needling Ashe, as much fun as the latter was. "So it looks like I really did destroy everything they had made from metal."

"I guess it's a good thing Nerak took my glaive."

"But," Markus continued. "We can still try to get the food and water-skins and anything else we find that's useful."

Ashe squinted, trying to see with the same detail that Markus was. "It looks like they've got some spears."

"We'll also need to be careful of the archers," Gregor commented. 

"So, to go over the plan," Markus gave a respectful nod to Gregor. "You two sneak in once my distraction works."

"That still isn't a plan," Ashe grumbled.

"Well Ashe, do you have a better plan? Anything you'd like to share with the group?" Markus surprised himself by snapping. He tried to calm down, blaming it on the unfamiliar pangs of hunger in his stomach.

"I, um," Ashe licked her lips. "No. Fine. Let's go." She shifted, moving to a ready crouch.

Gregor shuffled as well, glancing at the bluff for a way down.

Markus took a deep breath, and then called out to any of the wildlife that listened. He whistled, cawed, squeaked, and chittered. _"Friends,"_ he called in the tongues of many birds and small woodland creatures. _"Come to my aid, harass my enemies, for they would poison your waters and destroy your homes without a thought of you."_

There was a rustling in the trees, but not the torrent of shrieking birds and angry squirrels he was expecting to rain down upon the orcs. 

He called out again. _"Friends, I know you heard me. I'm not asking for anything difficult. I know a few of you would have fun, in fact."_

He flushed. Ashe and Gregor were staring at him. A bead of sweat ran down his face. _Right,_ he thought. _This close to the influence of the Lord of Werewolves, and the wildlife might not be so friendly._

Then the bead of sweat turned cold as he heard grunted words from below.

"There's creatures up there kicking up a fuss. There's something going on."

"Should I go check it out?"

"Should I kill you where you stand? Yes go check it out!"

_"Friends, you're about to get me into a lot of trouble. Please!"_ Markus stumbled over some of the squeaks and trills, words coming in a desperate rush. Ashe and Gregor were staring at him, Ashe's lips tightly pursed as she struggled between laughter and anger.

The only answer for all his effort was an acorn to the face.

"Ow!" He said reflexively. He froze. That had been far too loud. He glanced around wildly as if that would give him some idea of how to proceed. Only one thought came to him.

"Er cuinad," he said, the words feeling half like a wise saying and half like a mantra of terrible ideas.

He scrambled forwards and pulled in a deep breath. With his lungs full of air, he leapt off the cliff. His cape fluttered out behind him as he pressed his lips together.

"Pppbbbtttthhhhhhppttttttbbbbbttthhhhhpppppppptttttttbbbbpbppbbtttpphhhttpttbbbbhhhtttttppfffttttttthhbpbpttttbbtttt..." 

He landed with a nimbleness greater than he expected; his fart noise continuing on unbroken as he stood there.

The orcs stared at him in stunned silence. None of them moved. 

"...hhhttttbbbbbbbbbbbpppptttpptttttttttthhhhhbbbbbbbbbb..."

Markus made eye contact with the largest orc. The leader of this smaller group. He carefully didn't watch Ashe and Gregor slip quietly down and start grabbing everything they could. On the edges of his vision, he could see Ashe's eye twitch.

"...bbbbbbtttttttttthhhhtttttthhhhbppt!" He finished. He breathed in and out slowly, as if it had been nothing. He continued to stare into the orc's eyes.

A silence swept through group. The rush of the river seemed less important. Markus logically knew that the world had not stilled. He knew that just on the other side of the head that contained the eyes he was staring into, Ashe and Gregor were stuffing things into a sack they had found on the ground. He knew that technically he was not the center of the universe, as much as he was loathe to admit it. That many things throughout the world were moving about, unaffected by him. Yet none of that was as real as the slowly growing fury in his enemy's eyes.

The orc leader roared.

"Oh shit!" Markus turned and ran. He changed directions, digging his feet into the ground and springing to the side, and saw a spear whistle past him. It impaled itself deep into the loam several feet away.

There was a crack, and a ringing sound. For a moment the air sung out. Markus turn around to see a sword formed by golden light swinging through the air. It sunk into the flesh of an orc that had moments ago been intent on aiming an arrow at Markus. Instead, they collapsed as the sword dissipated into glittering mist.

The sparks that danced over Ashe died down. A bulging pack slung over her back, she hefted a spear as the orcs turned to see where the attack had come from.

"Gregor, get the bow," Ashe said. "I'll protect you."

Gregor nodded, and he and Ashe ran forwards together.

Four orcs charged the two of them as they ran. Ashe stepped in front of Gregor and thrust the spear at an incoming orc's stomach.

The orc easily dodged. They twisted, and grabbed the spear. They yanked the spear towards them with a sharp tug.

Ashe, unwilling to let go, was pulled off her feet. The two of them, off balance, crashed into each other.

Gregor, however, did not miss a beat. He kept running, and jumped. He leapt, landing on Ashe's shoulders as she and the orc toppled over, and leapt again, flying over the other three incoming orcs. He landed right by the dead orc with the bow.

He knelt, pushing the body over to get at the quiver of arrows that now rested underneath the corpse.

Leaving his back completely unprotected.

Markus started into action. He dodged, slipping past two orcs that tried to grab at him, and charged the orc about to throw their spear at Gregor. He drew back his fist, then lashed out at his opponent's face.

Pain rushed up his arm. He remembered belatedly that he'd hurt his wrist the last time he punched an orc. 

But at least the orc did not throw their spear. Instead, they turned to face him. Drawing back their own fist, they punched him right in the gut, sending him flying.

He slammed into the ground, all of the air leaving his body. Out of control, he rolled across the ground, eventually skidding to a halt. 

Markus stared up at the sky. Above him, there the clouds that had been ever-present for the past few days parted just a little. In that gap, one of Varda's pale stars shimmered.

_An age ago, she lit them as beacons,_ Markus thought. _She lit them for the elves, so that they were not alone in the darkness with Morgoth and his allies._

Struggling to draw in a breath, Markus rolled to the side, pushing himself upright, returning his attention to the battle.

The orc underneath Ashe stop struggling with a snap, and she released their neck. Gregor dodged an arrow, then rose, three arrows held in one hand, and more gripped in his mouth. He notched one on the plundered bow, and fired back at the orc that had shot at him. 

The first arrow missed its mark, but swiftly Gregor notched another one and let it fly.

This time, the orc hit the ground.

Ashe got to her feet and clenched her fists. Suddenly crackling with green lightning, she dove towards an orc with speed she had not demonstrated before.

But Markus couldn't watch to see what happened. The large orc was coming towards him. He needed to move.

"You're out of breath, singer." The orc growled in Eglathrin as Markus scrambled back. "Out of breath, and out of luck."

Sucking in air, Markus wheezed "yeah, well, fuck you," in Orkish.

The orc laughed, surprise blending with cruelty. They laughed as they rushed forwards with a speed that belied their girth. A foot, unshod but solid, connected with Markus's prone form before he knew it was coming.

He rolled across the ground, lungs flattened again. He saw spots, or thought he saw spots, or didn't see much at all as all of his thoughts swirled around desperation to draw a full breath.

Or maybe he just wasn't thinking at all.

The orc drew back their arm to throw a spear. There was no reason they'd miss.

His mind was too addled. He couldn't think. He couldn't decide what to do.

The spear began to move forward. Finger-by-finger, it left the orc's hand.

A streak of green and white. The orc flew to the side as they were hit by the oncoming force of Ashe. 

The spear wobbled now. Knocked to the side at last minute.

Ashe and the orc rolled across the ground.

_Shlump_

They tumbled together. The orc slammed into the ground and skidded to a halt while Ashe kept rolling. She summersaulted onto her feet, low to the ground, then lunged forwards. 

In her fist was a broken arrow.

She slammed her fist down onto the prone orc's neck, blood spraying as she pulled her hand away. 

The change in the battlefield was immediate. The orcs bearing down on the three baulked. 

"They got Thaddius!" One shouted, frozen. Another let out a steady stream of curses while running away, and several others jumped into the river. Soon, it was just Ashe, Gregor, Markus, and several corpses.

That was when Markus realized that the spear was going through his gut.

"Aaah," he said softly as the pain began to hit him. "That's not right."

"Markus!" Ashe whipped around, a look of horror spreading across her face as she saw the spear sticking up. She raced to his side, kneeling down. 

She chanted a word Markus assumed meant "shit" as she looked him over. "Oh fuck, no, okay." She gripped her hair, then released it. "Okay, fuck. Shhhhh Markus, shhhhh. I've got this. This will be okay. I, I can do this. Shhhhhh. You need to breathe."

_Easy for you to say,_ Markus thought, his lungs were working overtime, pumping so fast his breath felt thin and his head spun. But more than that, he felt pummeled. Like he was being hit in the stomach over and over again, pulsing.

"I, okay, fuck this." Ashe looked over towards where Gregor was watching the two of them, his eyes blank. "Gregor!" Ashe called, her voice raising towards desperation. "I need your help!"

Gregor's eyes snapped into focus and he rushed over to the two of them. "What do you need?"

"We need to get rid of the spear." Ashe pointed to a spot on the spear near where it entered Markus's body.

"He'll start bleeding out then." Gregor's eyes went vague. 

"I can stop that." 

"He'll also need something to bite down on. Let's find something clean enough. The spear being there gives up time, so there's no need to hurry and panic." Gregor scanned their surroundings.

"Are you fucking kidding me," Markus hissed.

Ashe took her own advice and took a deep breath. "You're right. I can't stop thinking. I need to think." She stood up. "We find a strip of leather, or something like it."

"Are you just going to leave me here?" Markus said. He meant it as a joke, but his voice quavered.

"Gregor, stay with him." Ashe jogged away.

Gregor sank down, and took Markus's hand. 

"I was joking. I'd say I'm fine if that wasn't an obvious lie. Go," Markus caught his breath against a wave of pain. "Go help Ashe."

Gregor patted him on the head. "Your hair is very soft," he said, surprised.

"I–" Markus started, and then stopped as he realized that for the first time in his life he didn't know what to say.

Gregor started combing his fingers through Markus's hair, gently working out the tangles. "The stone points on the spears are poorly made," he said thoughtfully, "but the hafts have nice quality wood."

"Really?" 

"Yeah," Gregor nodded. "Here, feel it." He carefully lifted up Markus's hand and ran it lightly along the haft.

"Wow," Markus raised his eyebrows. "That is in fact nice quality wood. Not very well carved though. You can tell they really rushed the job."

"There's still even some bark on it."

"Seriously? I can't believe it. Didn't even have the decency to skewer me with something well-made."

Gregor snorted at the genuine offense in his voice.

Ashe ran back up to them, kneeling down and sliding to a stop. "I washed this off a bit in the river," she said, waving a scrap of leather. "Gregor, on my signal, you'll break the spear here," she motioned to a spot close to his stomach, "and then we'll roll him onto his side and you'll push it the rest of the way through. I'll put him back together."

Markus felt a chill run down his spine. "Nope," he said, and passed out.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I've got a lot to say about this chapter. 
> 
> First of all, the elvish. I have a friend, Dom, who does not have any social media I can link to, for help with elvish throughout this fic. For this chapter, I sent them the text asking for a phrase in Quenya or Sindarin (Eglathrin) that would hold the same linguistic place as "yolo." They came up with "Er cuinad," which is a shortened form of the phrase "Geril cuil er cuinad gedig cuil er cuinad," "have (you) life one to live." "Er cuinad" on it's own translate to "one [something] to live."  
> I imagine this saying is a more recent one, as it does not fit the attitude of an immortal very well. It likely came from a combination of interaction with humans and the devastation of Nírnaeth Arnoediad. Suddenly, life seemed temporary and desperate, and thus this phrase came into being. 
> 
> The next thing is that I want to say a bit about how I wrote this chapter. I started writing, and realized that I hadn't planned out how I wanted the battle to go. I mean, I knew who I wanted to win, and had Markus's first move (this au's equivalent of imp summoning) in my head, but I had nothing else. So I decided to pick up a 20 and see what happened. The result was really fun, and I will definitely be doing this again when I haven't already planned out exactly how the fight goes. 
> 
> Finally, this kind of sporatic update schedule is probably what you can expect from this fic. Is it going to be one day between updates? Is it going to be several months? Honestly, I don't know. But I'm still having a lot of fun with this, so I'm still writing.  
> Thanks for reading!


	6. The Adventure Began: part 3

 

As Markus's flesh reknit, Ashe recognized she was reaching towards that thin place. That place where her humanity was as solid as charcoal dust on a wall, a faint drawing of the real thing. His wound had not been an easy one to fix, but out here she could not afford to simply cauterize and let it heal on it's own. The healing, plus pulling on her power to guide and strengthen throughout the fight, plus–

Ashe frowned, feeling the world spin a little. When was the last time she had slept? She wasn't quiet sure.

She rubbed her hands on a patch of moss, then wiped the cold sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "We can't stay here. The orcs that escaped might bring more back with them to this place."

Gregor nodded. "We'll want to get Markus up. Even if he can't walk, his night-vision will be helpful."

Ashe rubbed the base of her hands against her eyes, trying to think. "Burn some hair?"

"Making a fire would take time, 'cause Markus broke their steel."

"Right, right."

"Slapping him probably won't work," Gregor mused, "given that you sticking your hands in him didn't." 

Gregor seemed like he was about to say more, but trailed off, staring into space.

"Gregor?" Ashe said after a moment.

"What? Oh, sorry." Gregor grinned sheepishly, "I'm really tired."

"Yes," Ashe said. She looked up at him.

Her greyed face and drooping eyes met the dark circles under his.

Ashe snorted, realized that how they were both okay and safe, and not okay and far from safe at all at the same time. Gregor looked at her, confused, which only made the laughter bubbling up in her get stronger. It came out raucous and high.

"What did I miss?"

Ashe turned to see Markus propped up on his elbows. 

"Oh," Gregor said. "That solves that problem."

Ashe took some time pulling herself together. "Can you walk?"

Markus grimaced as he pushed himself further upright. "Only one way to find out."

Ashe stepped forwards to help him up. "On that note," she gestured back towards where they had been at the top of the bluff. "What were you thinking?"

"Well, it turns out the wildlife here can't be asked for a simple favor. That's right," Markus said, raising his voice. Then he started chirping angrily.

A few aggressive cheeps came from the treetops.

Markus's back straightened. He glared in the direction of cheeps, and let out a long series of chirps and cheeps, punctuated by a whistled.

Ashe fought to keep calm, not wanting to lose it like before, as she and Gregor traded a long glance.

A chittering sound came from a bush.

Markus's head whipped around. He chittered back.

"So the singing is magic," Gregor said slowly.

"I believe so," Ashe answered.

"Is this magic?"

"No," Markus said, speaking in Eglathrin once more. "I just have learned the languages of all the creatures."

"Oh," Gregor said, smiling from understanding. "So you're a linguist!"

"Yes, among other things," Markus said with an eyebrow waggle.

"And was the fart noise magic?"

Ashe couldn't hold the laughter in anymore. She buckled over.

"No," Markus said, sounding a little embarrassed. But the embarrassment passed quickly. "That was simply my natural talent and ingenuity in the face of my original plan not going so well."

Ashe sucked in a breathe of air, her sides beginning to hurt. "Let me help you up," she said, calming once more and returning to her feet.

Markus reached up a hand and she lifted, steadying him.

"Don't tell Gregor about how things were when you found me," she hissed into his ear.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," Markus whispered back.

"Just, don't."

Markus nodded. "So I imagine we're not staying here?" He said loud enough for Gregor to hear. 

"The enemy doesn't just let people go," Gregor answered.

Markus tried to take a step forwards, but his legs crumpled beneath him. Ashe caught him.

"How are you feeling?"

"Remarkably well," Markus grinned. "Given that last I checked there was a hole going all the way through me."

"Ashe, you take whatever you think you can carry," Gregor stepped forwards with sudden confidence in his voice, "And I'll carry the rest and Markus."

Ashe raised her eyebrows. Sure, she already knew that Markus was lighter than he looked, but if they were going to take all the stuff they'd gathered, that was a lot. "You sure about that?"

Gregor puffed out his chest a little. "I lift rocks."

Deciding not to attempt to raise any argument, Ashe set Markus down and went through the stuff with Gregor, sorting it into two piles of very disparate size. When she organized her burden into a sack and lifted it, she thought she hid her own tiredness well, but Gregor clucked and made her give him several heavy items before he seemed satisfied. 

The night was dark by the time they were ready to go.

"Wait," Markus said as Gregor lifted him. "Ashe, that one is wearing your coat."

Ashe squinted into the gloom, following Markus's finger. There was a corpse, and on it was the fur coat that she had worn for many miles of her journey. She had been cold without it.

She went over and pulled it off of the body. It had probably stunk before the orc sweat in it, but _that_ at least had been her own stink. Now it reeked, and there was a hole in the back that was damp. She couldn't imagine what it would look like in daylight. It was probably a very different coat from the one she put on when running away that night.

Well, it had served her well for many a mile; there was no sense in freezing.

 

Ashe woke, stiff, sore, and exhausted, before the sun rose. The sky visible between the leaves was still the dark of the predawn hours, yet even darker. It still struck her with surprise, how dark it was without the snow all around.

She got up and shook out her limbs. They hadn't set a watch, that wasn't smart, but they had pretty much just collapse into the small ditch and decided to spend what was left of the night there.

Ashe picked up one of the spears, and made to leave.

"Are you going out to hunt?"

At Gregor's soft voice Ashe nearly jump out of her skin. Turning around, she saw that he was sitting up.

"I don't eat meat," he said. "And lighting a fire would attract unwanted attention, so you'd have no way of cooking it. You're better off foraging." 

Ashe nodded. "For protection then," she said, hefting the spear and turning around to leave once more.

 

She returned with not much to show for her work. Gregor was up, and surprisingly, so was Markus, although one was significantly more up than the other. Gregor was in the middle of some sort of exercise, and Markus lay on his side, head propped up by his elbow, quietly chatting with a small brown bird. 

Gregor pushed himself up from the ground with one arm a few more times before he leapt to his feet. "Do you actually know how to use a spear?" He asked as he removed several large rocks from inside his robe. 

"I mean, sure. Pointy end," she gestured at the relevant end. "Pointy end goes in enemy's gut," she thrust the spear at the empty air. "Not much to it, right?"

Gregor scoffed. "Sound's like someone hasn't stabbed themself on accident before."

"I, ah," something in Gregor's mannerisms made her feel like she had missed something. "Not with a spear, no."

Gregor gave her an appraising look. "What have you stabbed yourself with then?"

"A sword. And a knife while gutting fish, but that's," Ashe gestured dismissively. "I think it was a short sword, as far as sword go, but swords are rare where I am from. No idea what happened to it." Ashe shrugged. "Either it got left behind when we were captured, an orc has it, or it's shattered."

"Oh shit," Markus excused himself from his conversation with the bird. "Ashe sorry I wasn't thinking, given that it was something you had from home."

"It's fine." Ashe left no room for further discussion on that point.

Markus said a few more things to the bird, who bobbed their head. "All right," he sat up. "I'd like to introduce you to Olrrirri, who is willing to help us out." He lifted up his hand, and Olrrirri fluttered up to sit on it. "Ee-oh-lay Gregor, ee-oh-lay Ashe."

The bird spread its wings and bobbed its head.

"Okay, but are you sure we can trust it?" Ashe looked at the bird. It cocked it's head to the side, seemingly mimicking her dubious look. "Think about what happened last time you asked the birds for help."

" _Ashe!"_ Markus gasped. "You are lucky he understands very little Eglathrin! And Olrrirri is a thrush, and his family remembers the house of Haleth with fondness."

Gregor nodded as if he understood, so Ashe did as well.

"Anyway," Markus glared at Ashe. "Olrrirri is going to find this group of orcs, and track them for us. He knows the danger of course, but then, so do we. For today, we'll just have to head north, and at sundown Olrrirri will find us and give us more information."

"You're certain that the orcs were going north?"

Gregor spoke up. "Both Angband and Tol-in-Gaurhoth are north of here. There's no where else they'd be taking them."

"They could be only taking them as far as Anfauglith. As of late Morgoth's forces have been gathering there, because no one is left to challenge them."

"Oh." Gregor said. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"Okay," Ashe nodded. "North it is then."

"And north is..." Markus paused to think.

"It's that way," Ashe pointed north.

"Given the moss on the trees, and the wind..." Markus ignored her. There was also no wind down under the trees.

Ashe sighed, gave Gregor a knowing look, and started organizing her pack.

 

"So when you're thrusting forwards, you either want your hands like this, or like this." Gregor demonstrated a few holds on the spear.

"Like this?" Ashe did her best to imitate him.

Gregor tried to get a good look at her hands, and instead walked through a bush. "This would be a lot easier if we had some open space and we weren't also walking."

"If we want to catch up to the orcs, we can't stop." Ashe was familiar with this pace. The endless pushing with little sleep and little food. But it was so much easier this time, to be the hunter instead of the hunted, and to not be alone. It was easy to forget that what she was used to might be hard on her companions.

"I know." There was nothing but determination in Gregor's voice. 

 

At sunset Markus attempted to climb a tree, then sent Ashe up it so that Olrrirri could find them by her characteristic white hair. Markus said that Olrrirri confirmed the orcs were heading north, and along the main road at that. Leaving the thrush with a collection of bugs Markus had found and a safe perch, they decided to continue on until the last of the light left the sky. 

They rushed through the wooded twilight. Gregor wondered at his new friends, so willing to throw themselves into danger. He, as the last Outrider, had his duty, but what drove the other two? 

Whatever it was, they didn't speak of it. 

 

The next day they reached the edge of the woods by midmorning, and struck out onto open ground. True, without undergrowth hampering their movements, they made good time, but Gregor for one would have preferred the cover of the trees. He guessed that Ashe felt nervous as well, from the way she kept glancing about and hunched up her shoulders. If Markus was concerned though, he did not show it. Mostly he showed signs of being in terrible shape, shape that could not be excused by the spear to the gut.

They were running towards the heart of their enemy, under the open sky. It was a brazen challenge, and he could appreciate that, but it was far from wise. Unfortunately there was nothing else to be done. They stayed their course, guided by the thrush they saw only at daybreak and sunset. 

 

The moon was shrouded by clouds, but he still shown brightly enough for them to pick their way across the open ground. Ashe would not let them stop until they found some sort of secure campsite, but there was no protected ground here, and the closer they drew to Gorthaur's stronghold, the less safe they would be. 

A howl pierced the air, followed by several other yips and calls. 

"That's a wolf," Markus said, "they–"

Before Gregor could interrupt, Ashe did. "I know of wolves," she said. "Not many crossed the mountains, but those that did were fierce and loyal to each other." She gestured at herself. "I'm wearing one of their pelts."

"It might not be a wolf." Gregor spoke up. "At this distance from the call only, you can't actually know if those are wolves, wargs, dire wolves, or even a single dire warg."

"You speak with a great deal of confidence," said Markus. "But could it not also be werewolves? We are in werewolf country. And perhaps more importantly, what is a dire warg?"

"No, definitely not werewolves. We'd know if those were werewolves. As for a dire warg," Gregor thought for a moment. "Okay, so imagine 5 wargs."

"Okay," Markus nodded.

"Now combine them all, replace the fur with venomous spikes, and give it wings. Oh! But when you combine them all, only keep one tail."

Markus blinked twice. "Gregor, I do not wish to disagree, as you really sound like you know what you're talking about, but at that point I think the creature no longer counts as a warg, dire or no."

"I think you'll find," Gregor said diplomatically, "that the concept of a warg is more flexible than that."

"No, I'm sorry. The moment is has wings it just, isn't a warg anymore."

"You say that but I fought one once and–"

"Wait," Ashe said. "What's a warg?"

"It's basically a wolf but bigger and instead of just being hungry they delight in killing."

"They also have a different skeletal structure than wolves, which is what allows orcs to ride them into battle."

"But, they most certainly don't have wings. Nothing even _distantly_ related to wolves have wings."

Gregor thought for a moment, trying to figure out how to explain this. "Okay, how about this, if I tied a horn onto a warg. Would it not be a warg?" As Gregor talked, several more howls went up, louder this time.

"It would be a warg with a horn tied to it. I don't understand where you're going with this."

"Wait," Ashe interrupted. "What's a dire wolf?"

"Bigger than a normal wolf, and with six legs," Markus and Gregor answered at once.

"But what if I tied some wings to a warg?" Gregor continued his point.

"Okay, are you saying that you fought 5 shaved wargs, 5 dire porcupines, and a bat that were all tied together? Because I really can't say if that makes more sense or less."

"Oh no, dire wargs are out there." To punctuate his statement the calls went out again, even louder. 

"I am actually not entirely sure what to say," Markus said.

Another howl, much louder. It was different from all the other ones.

"Oh!" Gregor said. "Now that we can hear that call, it's easy to tell what it is. That's the dire wolf's call that says they're getting close to the scent they're following."

"Interesting!" Markus tilted his head as if he could still hear it. In a way that was a reasonable thing to do, because of how that particular call of the dire wolf reverberated in one's bones. 

"Important question," Ashe said, her voice filling with fear. "Can we outrun dire wolves?"

Gregor gave her a look. "We can _try._ "

Ashe was already running.

 

"Well," Markus said, looking down over the cliff. "That was certainly, ah," he licked his lips, apparently unbothered by the small fire on his shoulder, "something that happened."

Far below where the three of them stood, the pack of dire wolves paced, growling at the sheer rocky walls. Spots of fire littered the ground they had crossed, and one bolder was still rolling.

"That was a very nontraditional way of escaping dire wolves," Gregor remarked.

Ashe collapse face first onto the ground. "I don't want to know the traditional way."

"I guess that just goes to show you," said Markus.

"Goes to show you what?" Ashe rolled onto her back to stare blankly upwards.

Markus had to think about that for a moment. He was tempted to say something like "what we can do when we work together." but that didn't fit. 

"I don't know," he said at last. "I honestly have no idea."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I just feel the need to tell you all how tempting it is for me to write things like "As the flesh of Markus reknit," given how Tolkien was always talking about "the bow of Legolas." Fortunately or unfortunately, my desire to write something good won over my desire to sabotage the flow of my writing for a shitty joke that probably no one would get.
> 
> Also for those of you less familiar with Tolkien's world, I'm just going to let you know that Sauron, the big eye from Lord of the Rings, has a LOT of names. So far he's been called the Lord of the Werewolves and Gorthaur, but will also be called Mairon, the Necromancer, and possibly some other names. When people talk about "the enemy" the are mostly talking about Morgoth (sometimes called Melkor), who Sauron is a lieutenant of, but they also could mean "the general forces of darkness which include Morgoth, Gorthaur the Cruel, and all those fucking dragons and balrogs and werewolves and whatever other fucking things that are out there and trying to kill us."


	7. The Adventure Began: part 4

 

There was no way back down the cliff. Honestly, there'd never been way up it either, and their ascent was mostly a blur by the time morning rolled around. Unable to return to the road, they continued on, climbing further into the foothills of the Ered Wethrin. Fortunately, Olrrirri stayed true to his chirrup. Somehow, they were gaining on them.

 

The peace of the open slopes was interrupted by what seemed like a great thunderclap. Within an instant the three friends had scrambled to the top of a boulder. 

"There's smoke over there!" Markus exclaimed, needlessly pointing to the enormous pillar of smoke rising into the clear morning air. "And where there's smoke, there's fire!"

He grinned wildly, winking like he had just said something cool, before jumping from the rock, landing poorly, and crashing into the bushes.

"And where there's weird stuff there's," Gregor paused. "It's probably a monster doing the weird stuff!" He jumped down, rolled, and sprinted after Markus and quickly out of sight.

"Wait!" Ashe called. "Shouldn't we run away from fire?"

She received only the sound of twigs breaking as an answer. With a heavy sigh, she ran after her friends.

They arrived together, Gregor and Ashe gripping their spears tightly. They charged into a newly made clearing.

In the center of the clearing lay a dwarf, slightly on fire. They were breathing, but otherwise unmoving.

Ashe nodded to the group, reminding them that this was her sort of thing. Not willing to put her spear down, she tried to hold it in a less threatening manner, her left hand outstretched. 

She jumped back as the dwarf suddenly sat up, grinning widely.

"Oh hey!" They shouted, "I didn't know there were people out here!"

"There's mostly orcs and other monsters," Gregor muttered as Markus spoke over him.

"Did you create that thunderclap?" Markus asked, matching the stranger's volume.

"Why yes I did!" The dwarf beamed.

"That is spectacular!" Markus bounded over and attempted to help the dwarf to their feet. 

The dwarf looked a little surprised, before a giant smile spread across their face. "Of course! I'm glad you can recognize the genius of Kir son of Firor–that's me." He stood up and gripped Markus's hand, shaking it. "That's right, Kir son of Firor: genius, inventor, potential elf-friend, wanderer of this general area, problem solver."

"That's just fantastic!" Markus grinned widely. "My name is Markus Velafi, and I frequently need problems solved!"

"Speaking of problems," Ashe said, unsure why she already felt defeated. "Your cape is on fire."

Kir twisted around to see it, and then shrugged. "Nothing you can really do about fire."

"Of course there is," Ashe said, getting out her water skin. "Here, let me just–"

"Oh no!" Kir backed away quickly. "That won't work."

"What?" Said Ashe.

"You can't just put out this kind of fire with water. I fixed that."

"You fixed that?" Ashe rose an eyebrow, incredulous.

"You fixed that?" Markus's face lit up with excitement

"Of course!" Kir beamed.

"But, but–" Ashe started.

"My name is Gregor Heartway," said Gregor. He looked at Ashe, and then added. "He/him pronouns."

Ashe gave him a small nod. She had needed to explain her gender a few days ago, and he was doing marvelously with the new information. "I'm Aesling, she/her pronouns. Mostly people call me Ashe."

Kir nodded. "I use he/him I guess if we're doing that," he said, a little confused. "So what brings all of you here?" He grinned again.

"We are hunting a party of orc slavers, which we should get back to," Ashe said. 

Gregor twirled his spear. "Right! There's no time to waste! It was nice to meet you, and I'm glad you're not hurt," he gave the dwarf a slight bow.

Kir sighed, his smile fading. "Ah of course, I–"

"Wait!" Markus said. "One of your titles was 'wanderer of this general area,' right?"

"That's right."

"Do you think you could lead us along the quickest paths through here?"

A big goofy smile started to spread across Kir's face.

"Wait," Ashe said. "Wait wait wait wait wait. Markus we need to talk about these sorts of things. Group huddle," she pulled Markus in and tugged on Gregor's sleeve. 

"What's wrong Ashe?" Asked Gregor. "Having a guide would be really useful."

"What's wrong is that we have no idea how he created that thunderclap, or why he's out here, or who he is, _and he's on fire_!" Ashe hissed.

"Ashe those are all great reasons to bring him with us," Markus said. "He's mysterious and on fire, how cool is that?"

"That's not cool Markus that's dangerous," Ashe said, wondering, not for the last time, how Markus had survived so long.

"He seems friendly," said Gregor.

"It could be an act to trap us," Ashe said. "I mean, fire is one of Morgoth's big things, right? And–"

"Are you stereotyping Ashe?" Gregor interrupted.

"Jeeze Ashe," said Markus. "How could you. You know I like fire."

"Come on Ashe."

"Seriously, rude."

"Fine!" Ashe threw her hands up in the air, breaking the circle. "Fine! Okay! Kir can be our guide!" 

"I can be your guide?" Kir shouted from a little ways off, as if he could barely believe it.

"If you want to be," Markus said, walking back over to the short man. 

The biggest, goofiest smile Ashe had ever seen spread over Kir's face as he grabbed Markus's hand and started shaking it vigorously. "You've got yourself a guide and I'll be the best guide you've ever had. And I know this area super well because when you've got no one to talk to for years and years you just kind of wander around a lot, haha!" He took a breath. "So where are we going?"

Ashe sighed heavily.

 

After being caught up, Kir nodded thoughtfully. "It sounds like there's no way I'm coming back here."

"Sorry," Markus put a hand on his shoulder. His own knowledge of home was a wavering thing, but he knew that for those less nomadic than he, it was important. "We are asking a lot of you. You could always say no. I can't just insist that you to leave your home to go on a dangerous journey with people you just met."

"Home?" Kir brushed Markus's hand off. "Home is what you make of it, and I want to make this place only a memory!" He kicked a rock as if he were dealing out revenge on the whole landscape. "I'm coming with you, and that's a fact. We just need to go by my house first so that I can pack up. I mean," he looked around him. "My secondary house, where I keep all the things that I don't want to be on fire." He trotted off, then paused. "Are you guys following?"

Markus blinked, confused. Then he shrugged and started after him. He liked this dwarf.

Kir lead them through bushes until they came upon a beaten track, which he followed as it wound about the hills. He turned, and suddenly it seemed that he stepped into a bush and disappeared into the ground. Ashe, close on his heels, went in after him, as did Gregor. When Markus rounded the corner he saw there was a small opening, invisible from most angles. He ducked down and stepped into the tunnel. 

Ashe and Gregor stood, blind in the dark, while Kir rushed forward, moving through the cluttered cave by memory. 

At first Markus only glanced about to note where things were so that he wouldn't trip over anything, but the strange shapes in the gloom caught his attention. He reached his mind out, gathering his surroundings in greater detail.

Kir, or someone else, had dug this cave, and they had done so without much planning involved. Braces crossed each other at odd angles, apparent shoved in wherever they were needed, and scattered about the floor were piles of all manners of things. Between two posts hung a hammock, which was the only thing that made this cave a living place. The point of the cave wasn't architecture, nor was it a home. It was a workplace, and all the things that served that purpose were meticulously crafted. 

Rows of pots filled of mysterious liquids, powders, seeds, and all other stranger things lined shelves set into the back wall. There were several tables of sturdy yet tasteful build, each covered with contraptions that Markus could not begin to guess at the function of. The walls were covered it etchings, long passages and slanting notes in dwarvish. Or, Markus assumed it was dwarvish, as he couldn't read it. 

Kir patted blindly at one of the posts in the room. On it was an empty hook. A few posts away, a lantern hung on a different hook.

Markus stepped forwards, ducking under the low ceiling and weaving between piled materials and braces to get to the lantern. "Here," he said, placing the lantern in Kir's questing hands. "Looking for this?"

"Uh," Kir said, surprised. "Yes that was it." He pulled something off of his belt and used it to light the lantern.

Markus gasped. The tiny flame inside the lantern shown far brighter than he expected it to. Warm light glowed like a bonfire as it reflected off the surfaces of the lantern. Metal polished to a mirror's sheen and carefully cut and angled glass amplified the gentle glow of a tallow candle to a magnificent light. Even Kir, the only one who could have expected this, winced and looked away as light flooded the cave.

"Woah," Markus said. "That's amazing. Did you make it?"

"Yup. That one's my third attempt." Kir snapped the latch shut and handed it back to Markus before walking away to gather his things. "Be careful with that, it still might explode like the other two. Never did figure out what was causing that."

Markus froze mid-fiddle, then quickly hung the lantern up on the nearby hook. He turned, to begin a closer examination of the things on the tables. Whatever they were, they were all labeled in the same language as the wall. 

"Is this Khuzdul?" Markus asked, picking up one of the things.

"Yes. No reason to put it in anything else, since no one else was out here. Do be careful with those." Kir said as he shoved some things into a pack.

The thing in Markus's hand started to whir. He quickly put it down and reached for another thing.

Ashe was suddenly beside him, swatting his hand away. "Hands in your pockets Markus," she hissed.

"What? Why?" He whispered back.

"Have you not been listening? It seems like everything that dwarf has made is dangerous."

"I'm dangerous," Markus countered.

Ashe folded her arms and looked unimpressed. "Don't touch anything. I don't want to have to put you back together."

Markus sighed and rolled his whole head, as rolling his eyes just wouldn't cut it. He was definitely going to touch all the things later.

"What are you talking about?" Kir pushed his way between them to get at the table.

"How–" Ashe started.

Markus clapped his hand over her mouth. "How I should definitely get to touch everything." Ashe struggled against him but the cramped space gave her nowhere to go.

"Hmm," Kir grinned knowingly as he shoveled everything on the table into his pack. "I see that we are kindred spirits in this respect. But these things are highly precise instruments and absolutely must be handled with care." Kir swung the pack onto his back with a clank.

"I see," Markus stared with confusion. Suddenly he felt something warm and wet against his hand. He let go of Ashe with a yelp. "Did you just _lick_ me?"

"Would you rather I bit you?"

"I would have _rathered_ you didn't _lick_ me! That is disgusting!" Markus wiped his hand on his pants.

"Your hand was over my mouth! What was I supposed to?" Ashe sounded offended, but she was grinning.

Gregor, still standing politely by the entrance, spoke up. "Do you have anything you could add to our supplies? We need," he paused to do a mental inventory, then shrugged, "pretty much everything."

"Oh sure! Look around! Take whatever you need. I'm not coming back here."

Markus looked at Ashe and raised his eyebrows.

She scowled at him, catching his meaning. 

She sighed as he immediately went to the shelf of pots and started sniffing them.

Ashe and Gregor started carefully sorting through the piles. Ashe poked at them with her spear, every muscle in her body tense and ready to spring away. Gregor proceeded with a far more reasonable amount of caution.

"Kir," Ashe asked. "Why do you have a pile of swords?"

"There are other weapons in there too. Good source of metal. If you want a good sword, hold on. Kir shuffled through Gregor to pull two swords, both sheathed, out of a nook. The larger one he flung onto his back, but he tossed the other to Ashe.

She caught it with a slight fumble. Drawing it slowly, she tested the weight of it. 

"This is a nice sword," she said, giving it a careful swing. 

"It was my father's. It was called, um," Kir frowned. "Well I've just been thinking of it as Dadsword so you can name it if you want."

"Oh wow," Ashe examined the blade. "Where I come from, this is quite a gift. Are you sure you want to give it to me?"

"Well I don't know much about tradition or anything like that," Kir shrugged. "But you can have it. I'm ah," he paused to remember the words, "at your service?"

Ashe frowned. "You don't need to serve me. You are as free as I am."

Kir and Ashe stared at each other.

"Do you have a glaive?" Gregor asked.

"A what?"

Gregor sighed heavily. "It's like a spear, but with a blade."

"Oh I don't keep any of the spears, not enough metal to be worth melting down. I could improve your spear though."

"Improve?" Gregor looked interested.

"How do you feel," Kir walked over and slung an arm around Gregor's shoulder, dragging him into a further stooped position, "about a spear that is on fire."

Markus noticed Ashe shaking her head, so he started vigorously nodding to counteract this.

"That might make it a little hard to sneak up on people." 

Kir's face fell.

"But," Gregor said, looking a little panicked, "maybe for a different quest? I'll keep it in mind." He glanced over at Markus. "Are you finding anything useful over there?" He called, quickly changing the subject. "Any food?"

"Frankly, I don't have the slightest as to what I'm finding. Hold on." Markus stuck his finger into a contain, and then licked it. "Oh no, no, that is not food."

"Markus why!"

"It's not like I can read the labels, Ashe." Markus picked up another container.

"No!" Kir dove across the cave, swatting the clay pot out of his hand. It smashed onto the floor, liquid spattering and sizzling. "Here, let me just show you where the food is." Kir walked through the hissing and popping puddle, muttering. "Durin's beard! No regard for safety!"

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have not been writing this in order. The first scene of this crossover that I wrote is going to show up in the middle of the Onorhant arc, and before that I had written a bunch of notes about the third age. As I've been writing, I've been learning more and more kinda obscure Tolkien lore. Learned some of Neo Khuzdul while trying to figure out how to spell Kyr's name so that it was pronounced correctly, stuff like that.  
> One thing I learned part way through writing, well after starting to post this, is that neither elvish language has gender pronouns. The only words that have gender in elvish are words like mother/father, daughter/son, husband/wife, etc. Which makes Ashe telling everyone her pronouns kinda weird. If I were to retroactively "translate" the Eglathrin more accurately, Ashe would be saying "I'm a woman" every time she introduces herself.  
> You see, in case it wasn't obvious enough already (please let me know if it's not obvious and I will make it more obvious), Ashe is trans. I wanted to show this, but I didn't want her to ever be misgendered. When I started writing this, I was in a pretty fragile place. Constantly be misgendered at home, constantly aware that no one I met would know my gender, I just didn't want that kind of violence in my writing. Things are better at home now, but this story is an escape for me, and making Tolkien's world super queer makes me happy.  
> Ashe stating her gender to everyone she meets is a very trans thing. As a nonbinary person, my gender is invisible. One of my trans friends has talked about how at her first meeting at a new job, she said to her coworkers "I know I don't look it, but I'm a woman, I use she/her pronouns." and how glad she was that everyone took it well.  
> The fact that elvish doesn't have gendered pronouns, nouns, adjectives, or verbs makes it a lot easier to imagine queerness in middle earth. I'm really excited for when the group runs into elves to really dive into a culture that sees gender VERY differently than how good ol' Tolkien imagined it.
> 
> Anyway, Kir's in the story now and that's pretty exciting. I love him.


	8. The Adventure Began: part 5

 

Despite Ashe's many misgivings about the dwarf, she had to admit that he knew the land well. He guided them easily around the pits and gullies, picking up small trails made either by himself or animals. By Ashe's estimation, they were traveling nearly twice as fast as they were before.

The trade off was that he talked the whole time. His voice echoed through the hills, and no one else seemed to care. He and Markus got on instantly, and Gregor liked him too. Even though he was constantly asking personal questions and had no respect for space. He had obviously been alone for a long time, and Ashe knew she was being a little uncharitable, but she was certain that his volume was going to get them all in trouble.

When Olrrirri found them he confirmed that they were going much faster. As Markus shared his report, a wave of relief passed through the group. The orcs were not heading to Tol-in-Gaurhoth. They would not have to storm the island fortress, and they still had time to catch up. They would meet their enemies on Anfauglith.

 

It was only an hour into the morning when Olrrirri swooped down and Markus extended a hand for him to land on.

"Well met," Markus trilled. "What news brings you to us?"

"I do not wish to travel any further, nor do you have need of me," Olrrirri trilled back. "You will pick up their trail soon enough, and I am only a small thrush, not a hunter."

"Olrrirri, we could not have made it this far without your aid. Had I the authority, I would name you a friend to all the free peoples, and bless your lineage."

Olrrirri tilted his head, then ruffled his feathers. "You have not the place among these peoples to name me as such, but I believe that your Word still carries power."

Markus cocked his head, trying to figure out what the thrush meant by this, but then smiled. It mattered not. "Truly you are a gem among the birds, your wisdom as canny as your eyes are sharp. Fly safely! Farewell, wherever you fare, 'til your nest receives you at the journey's end!"

"And now my part of the saying seems ill, given where you are going. But I shall wish it on you anyway. Friend, may the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks. I truly hope it does, and shall bear you out of that dark place ahead."

Olrrirri took off, spiraling up to a height, then heading south.

"What was that about?" Ashe asked.

"Olrrirri was just saying goodbye. We're almost there."

 

The foothills descended into the dust. Gregor had heard of this place, Ventis pulling out a map and showing him all the parts of the world, speaking about many as if he had seen them himself. But if he had ever seen Anfauglith, he would have described it differently. Walking into it was like watching all of the color seep out of the world. 

It was burnt. Not browned but blackened to a crisp, with grey dust hanging in the air or loose about the ground. It gathered in piles and in the cracks between the black rock, or in thin layers on the surface. Each footstep was deadened by the softness, and each movement kicked up a cloud. Before long Gregor's pants were grey, Ashe's hair was grey, Markus's dark robes faded, and even the brilliant red that Gregor worked so hard to preserve was dimmed.

And then there was the dryness of it all. How the dust filled his mouth and nose, gathered and weighed down his eyelashes as he blinked it away. 

Kir was getting the worst of it, closest to the ground. He coughed and hacked, and grabbed onto Gregor's robe to keep from getting lost. Ashe had her coat up, wrapped about her face, and Markus kept one arm over his mouth and nose as he squinted forwards. 

Even so, they picked up a trail. Many feet, all crisscrossing and shuffling over each other. It was impossible to tell how many people they were tracking.

Soon they began to hear the movement and coughing of others ahead of them. 

"Kir," Ashe hissed. "Be quiet." She squinted ahead, trying to make out anything. There were rough outlines, but nothing more.

They continued to creep forwards, the shapes growing more distinct. 

"Okay," Markus said softly. "You three keep their attention, I'll start cutting the slaves free."

Gregor nodded. "It is our turn to be the distraction."

As they approached, the wind swept around a curve in the rock, kicking up more of the choking dust into Kir's face. He sneezed. Loudly.

Instantly, an orc voice started shouting. Figures grew more distinct as a few started rushing towards them. Ashe swore under her breath.

"Don't worry," Gregor twirled his spear. "This could be a good thing. We're drawing some off from the main group.

Ashe nodded, actually looking comforted. He wasn't expecting that.

The leading orc seemed to spot them, and started to charge. Deftly, Gregor lunged forward, and buried his spear into the orc's gut. They let out a guttural scream and collapse to their knees.

"That's my cue!" Markus vanished into the dust as more orcs charged.

Gregor and Ashe stepped forwards to meet them as Kir struggled to get his sword off of his back. 

An orc swung wide at Ashe, but Ashe swung wider, trying to blink the dust away from her eyes. She stumbled, off balance from trying to hit something that wasn't there.

But Gregor couldn't focus on her. He pulled the spear free, and turning, there was Nerak. She stood tall, and held his glaive tightly in her fists. She recognized him just as he recognized her, and they both charged.

He stabbed forwards, but Nerak grabbed, and stopped the spear short. Gregor twisted and the spear sprang free from her grasp, but as he turned he saw he made a misstep. Just barely, he leaned as the blade swept across him. A score of pain. He stumbled backwards, but regained his footing. His nerves sang as he focused. It wasn't too deep, he could keep going.

Nerak stepped forwards, swinging his glaive. She swiped twice. Gregor dodged both, stepping back each time, before leveling his spear and attacking.

Nerak dodged and slashed again, continuing to press forwards.

Ahead of him, where the captives were, he heard a commotion rise up. Ashe felled the orc in front of her and started sprinting forwards. He needed to get over there too, but instead he was backing up again. This was clumsy. He was letting his enemy dictate the terms, he was doing everything wrong. Dust, like tiny shards, stung as it flew into the gash on his chest. Nerak was important, sure. She lead the orcs and had his glaive. For all the free people of Beleriand and for himself, she needed to go down. But somewhere ahead, Markus probably needed help, and Ashe would too as she plunged into the mass of the enemy. Somewhere ahead, helpless humans were in peril.

Nerak wasn't important _enough_. Gregor shifted his feet, then leapt forwards. The orc ahead of him turned just out of the way, Gregor's spear just catching on her shoulder. But Gregor didn't stop, he kept running. The wind was picking up, the dust whirling. Gregor's chest was on fire, his lungs were on fire, but every nerve was firing and he charged forwards.

He didn't stop until the spear's point buried itself into another orc's back. He drew it out quickly, and looked around. 

Orcs massed about, drawing weapons, preparing to fight. There were fewer people now than when they had been taken, but that was no surprise. A few had their hands free, and were casting about in confusion as orcs bore down on them. Markus handed his knife to one of them, and turned to face the incoming attackers, weaponless as always.

Gregor felt a sudden weight on his shoulders, and fought to steady himself. Looking up, he saw Ashe vaulting off of him. She landed with one foot on an orc's shoulder, and leapt to the next one. 

_Well,_ Gregor thought, shifting his feet, _best thing to do now is to keep their attention divided._

He leapt, striking down at a still off-balance orc, but the spear hit a hastily raised shield instead of flesh. Gregor quickly sprang away before the orc could retaliate, and again evaluated his situation. He needed to keep their attention, but clearly poor visibility was preventing him from becoming a whirling storm of death to all monsters that he was trained to be. He changed his footing and began to flow. He moved unpredictably as his enemies surrounded him. A sword jab? Just a bit to his right. A sweeping ax blow? Nothing there. 

The crowd parted, and with a roar Nerak came crashing forwards.Gregor saw the strike incoming. There was nowhere to go, not with the blades all about him. He raised his spear to block, and it and the glaive collided with great force. For a moment the whole shaft vibrated against his hands, uneven surfaces digging into his palms, and then it shattered. Wood splintered away into the dust, and Gregor found himself holding nothing.

He looked down at his empty hands, palms still buzzing. He heard a blade whistling and ducked under it. He came up grinning. At least she had brought his weapon back. 

Taking a deep breath he squeezed his eyes as close to shut as he dared, and rolled forwards. Dust surrounded him as he popped up, bringing a cloud of it with him directly into Nerak's face. He grabbed onto the glaive and pulled. For a moment she struggled against him, then her lungs hitched with a cough, and her hands loosened. Gregor sprang back. All was so very far from being right in the world, but at least there was the way his glaive fit in his hands.

He returned to his ever shifting stance, dodging jabs, and now even deflecting blows, catchings some on the cross-guard, swatting others away. He looked for opportunities to strike those that surrounded him.

Nerak grabbed a sword from the orc beside her and rushed at Gregor, but she couldn't hit him, and he pressed her back into the wall that surrounded him. No one could hit him, but it was beginning to dawn on him that he couldn't hit any of them.

He couldn't go on the offensive without opening himself to dozens of attacks. He was watching for an opportunity that wouldn't come. The swipes he made only kept the enemy away from him. He could keep on moving, keep up this dance, but for how long? They were trying to tire him out. Sooner or later someone would make a mistake, but any orc he injured would quickly be replaced. He was only one man, they were one small piece of a vast army. But he had to keep going. Keep watching for anything. Take as many down with him as he could.

Something flew through the air. It collided with one of the orcs, and they burst into flame. Burning, suddenly hot and bright, the orc screamed as they were quickly engulfed. Those next to them stumbled back, but weren't fast enough. The fire leapt at them, consuming what should have been difficult to catch with the ferocity of a beast. 

The line broke. 

Gregor stumbled back from the fire as well, but quickly turned. With the heat of the flames at his back, he pressed forwards. With a flourish he felled one enemy, then another, and another.

Nerak shouted orders, and orcs began to flee from him. They dove out of his way, breaking formation. Nerak was backing up too. She had her sword raised defensively as she backed away, looking about, shouting more orders.

For a moment, Gregor followed her gaze, and saw what was happening. This was not a retreat. Nerak was directing her forces towards the slaves, towards Ashe and Markus. Gregor's eyes widened as he saw an orc slip past Ashe and cut down a captive, their bound hands raised up in an useless defense.

Gregor bent his knees, and sprang into the air, his glaive ready to strike at one of the orcs racing towards the defenseless. A grip tightened around his ankle, and instead of flying he was swinging towards the ground. 

Dust did little to cushion the black rock beneath it. He gasp for the air knocked from him and got only choking dust. His eyes stung. He rolled, quickly raising up his glaive in defense. He felt an impact against it, a blade coming down hard on the handle.

Blindly, he kicked out, spinning to his feet, fighting to keep his guard up as he blinked and coughed furiously.

A slash came in at his side, and he gasped as the blade bit into him. It withdrew, and it was all Gregor could do to remain on his feet. He let go of his glaive with his left hand to grab at the wound, feeling something slippery. 

He gripped his side tightly, trying to hold it closed. The fact that he wasn't dead yet meant that nothing had been cut open, which was a small blessing.

Through watery eyes, he looked up and saw the blurry form of Nerak grinning down at him. 

"I see you came back to me." She went to grab him, but he ducked away. 

She swung her sword, and he raised his glaive to stop it. A clumsy off balance block. The sword jumped from the cross-guard to score across his arm. He held onto the glaive. His heart was hammering in his chest as blood flowed out of his body. 

"I was going to send you to the Great Lord's Lieutenant." Nerak continued. "He would have figured out what made _you_ , out of all the weak humans, so difficult to kill. And that would have broken you, wouldn't it have, human?" She lunged for him again, gripping his hair and pulling him up, until his face was level with her own, the tips of his toes just toughing the ground. "It would have broken you, to come so far, only to fail at my feet once again. But it's not going to come to that."

Nerak threw him. He stumbled, planting his glaive against the ground and leaning against it as if it were a cane. "Too much trouble, sending you away for experimentation. I'm going to have to take you apart right here, and see what I can learn from that." 

She swung her sword in a lazy arc. More taunting than to actually hit, simply forcing Gregor backwards. Had he his full strength, that stroke would have been her death, so open to counterattack. But his strength was flowing out of him with each heartbeat. 

She swung again. His foot hit against something, and he fell.

Sitting in the dust, he rose his glaive to knock aside one strike. He looked up at Nerak as she raised the sword once again, his face set with calm determination, no fear.

Now.

He let go of his side, returning his left hand, slick with blood, to the shaft of his weapon. He pushed off from the ground, rising like a bird startled from the grass. His blade sunk deep into Nerak's stomach, and he dragged it down, cutting through her. She fell, eyes wide in shock, mouth still frozen in a sneer.

Gregor's hand flew back to his side. He wavered, remained on his feet, and turned to see how his friends were faring.

Ashe was covered in blood, but she fought fiercely so he had to assume that most of it wasn't hers. Beside her, freed slaves had taken up arms from their felled captors and fought against them. Kir was also there, punching and kicking, his sword still strapped to his back. Disorganized now, Nerak's forces were being destroyed.

Gregor stumbled forwards as the last body fell, leaning heavily on his glaive. 

Ashe looked up towards him as he approached, grinning, chest heaving. "We did it! We–" her face fell. "Gregor! Oh shit!" She rushed over, green lightning snaking about her arms. 

She dropped her sword in the dust in front of him, and grabbed him. Energy, searing and bright, passed through him. Muscles clenched and unclenched out of his control as Ashe gripped him tightly. The air smelled metallic and he felt his wounds closing.

His body stopped convulsing, and Ashe carefully released him. She stepped back, shaking her hands and looking at him. "That should hold."

Gregor looked down at himself. He still felt the wounds, he wasn't healed, not completely. But they were closed, blood vessels reconnected, skin tight against skin.

He looked back up at Ashe. "Wow," he said, meaning it. "Thank you."

"It's fine." Ashe looked down at the dust. "Sorry I couldn't be over there to watch your back."

"Next time we'll have to make a bigger distraction."

Ashe froze for a second. "Next time," she muttered softly, her eyes wide.

"Your distraction wasn't the problem, actually," Markus joined them. "One of them thought that if he raised the alarm, he'd be treated better." He sighed. "He's dead now."

Gregor turned to look at the freed captives, and saw how few were still standing. Kir was moving among them, handing out masks to filter the dust. There were only ten ten of them. There had been over a score when they were captured. How many had been lost on the road, how many in this battle?

He couldn't let himself do that math. Ten survived, and each of those ten lives meant something. 

He straightened and cleared his throat, coughing uselessly. Unsure if they all spoke Eglathrin, Gregor called out in his native tongue of Haladín, "Is everyone okay? I'm sorry we didn't save you sooner."

One of them, the eldest among them, turned to him. "You're the boy that defended us when we were taken?" It was barely a question.

"Yes," Gregor nodded.

"Bless you, I thought for certain you had died." They put a hand on his shoulder, then drew him into an embrace. Gregor returned the hug carefully, aware of their tattered shirt and the slashes beneath it.

"We can't rest here," Gregor said after they released him.

"No, we cannot," they agreed. They turned, grabbing his arm and raising it so that his glaive flashes in the air. "We are free!" They shouted. "We are free, but we cannot rest yet. We have been through torment, and seen our friends and family fall, but still we must continue. And we will, because we are of the house of Haleth, and we are stronger than the forces of evil!"

No shout returned theirs, no victorious cry. Instead, nine sets of determined eyes looked at the two of them.

The elder turned to look at him, and abruptly Gregor realized that he was now a leader. 

"Gather all you can from the orcs. Water, food, cloths, weapons. Anything you need. If you're thirsty, drink. If you're hungry, eat. If you're wounded, say something." He lowered his hand, and looked to the person next to him.

"My name is Gileth," they said.

"Gregor."

They let his arm go, and went to search a body.

He turned to see Ashe, Markus, and Kir standing behind him, showing support. Kir handed him one of the masks. He noticed with satisfaction that the fabric was red.

"They know we can't stay here," Markus translated for Ashe and Kir as Gregor tied on his mask, immediately finding it easier to breathe. "They're gathering supplies now, which we should probably help with."

"Ashe, Kir," Gregor said. "Do either of you know the way out of here?"

"Roughly," Ashe answered. "There aren't many landmarks, but I can lead us out."

 

In the lands under Morgoth's thumb, even the wind could be drawn to fell purpose. Down from the three peaks of Thangorodrim a great wind swept. It blew with a short breath, as one snuffs out a candle. It blew fiercely, so that it cleared all the dust from the air. It blew evilly, leaving everything for miles around clearly visible.

Beasts turned their heads, orcs left their tents, attention shifted, all to focus on 14 individuals that suddenly found themselves exposed.

One of them, with a puff of shock white hair turned grey by the dust, surveyed the landscape. The route she was planning on taking was shut. It was filled with creatures she had never seen before, never imagined.

Those with her slowly straightened. All things that walked the Anfauglith took a moment to take in their surroundings, to count their enemies.

A man with blond hair and red horns stood beside the white haired woman. "Well fuck me," he said.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, Olrrirri was going to be playing the role of Impocrates, as was going to die after being very helpful. I decided to let Olrrirri live. Things are bad enough.


	9. The Adventure Began: part 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter there is much discussion of places. Here: http://www.tolkienforums.com/Maps/map%20of%20Northern%20Beleriand.gif is a map of where the group has been so far, and the lands they talk about. There are a few places that have different names on this map than what appear in this fic, and this is due to various violent acts that happen in the first age. This story is at the very end of what was a very difficult age in the history of Arda. In this chapter, Dorthonion is called Taur-nu-Fuin. Minas Tirith, which you won't find on this map, is the name of the fortress on Tol Sirion, which is called Tol-in-Gaurhoth in this fic.

 

They ran. 

Breath hot and damp drawn through masks they ran.

Eyes squinted ahead they ran. 

Arms swinging lungs pumping the whole body as a single pulse they ran. 

Feet as drum beats against stone they ran. Heartbeat in ears as the same thud of the shock of each footfall they ran.

Jolting spines they ran. Heavy bodies they ran. Stitches like flames they ran. Air caught in the back of the throat they ran.

They fled the monsters at their heels. There were too many to fight, and there was no time to count them.

They ran. There was no other choice. Ashe picked east, the direction with fewest enemies, and lead the group. Gregor called for them to follow her, and she hoped that she would not lead them astray. But if there was one thing she had learned when she was on her own, it was how to be pursued. How to be pursued and not get caught. For moments when the wind blew through her hair as she leapt across the uneven ground she knew that she could do this.

Other moments, she worried. She had pulled so much on her well to escape Meathe. To set a twisted ankle, to replace the need for sleep. No one else had that, and she only had so much to give. 

Stay ahead. Go where they cannot follow. Never stop. 

Small green sparks ran through her body, toughing her tired muscles, and she bent down to pick up a child, perhaps twelve years old, just as they stumbled. She shifted them until they clung to her back. 

One of the others saw her. They ran forward to keep pace beside her.

"Thank you," they said, words stumbling and breathy.

Ashe nodded acknowledgement. "Are you the parent?"

"No." They said, pausing both for air and to put together the language. "I am daughter of his mother's sister."

"My name is Ashe."

"My name is Mirandeth," she replied, her voice more sure on the practiced ground of a barely known language. "Nice to meet you, Ashe."

Ashe grinned under her mask, the greeting feeling so out of place here. Then her face fell. "I'm sorry," she said, not entirely sure what she was apologizing for.

Mirandeth looked at her, her eyes wide and wet. She turned back, facing forward, focusing on her footing.

 

They ran and the land shifted. Loose dust and black stone became hard dirt and skeletal trees. Grey wood and leafless thorn-bushes first dotted the land, and then grew thicker. Few brown leave clung, tattered, to the boughs. The ground rose steadily as the old wood drew closer together, twisting branches forming a net across the sky.

Ashe lead them into a small fold in the hillside, then halted.

Gregor jogged up to her, glancing about and over his shoulders. "I don't like this place, we shouldn't be here."

Markus stumbled forwards, then collapsed to the ground. He rolled over. "This land has been ill-used," he said, as seriously as he could from his position. "I doubt the trees will take kindly to us."

Ashe walked up to one of the colorless and withered trunks, and placed her hand against it. She listened, not with her ears, but through the root of her palm and into the rough wood. What she heard was anger. Hot anger, full of vengeance with no way to strike. Grievance after grievance caught in slowly dying bark. Pieces of itself being leached away, crumbling, leaving only rage.

She could understand why Gregor and Markus would feel danger from these trees, but, well, she also understood the trees. There was nothing strange in it, not to her.

Her hand fell back to her side, and she took a deep breath, pulling herself out of cracked bark and back into thin, warm skin. 

"Well?" Gregor asked.

"We will have to be careful, but we can pass through. Markus," she turned. "Now that we are out of sight, can you hide our trail?"

"In this land?" Markus looked at her, incredulous. "I'd have to directly compete with the will of Morgoth for these shadows. And while I'm pretty great, that is a fight I would lose."

Ashe nodded, trying not to look worried. "Then I guess we keep going until we get out of his land?" She looked around, then looked back to Markus. "Where are we?"

"We've just entered Taur-nu-Fuin. We're probably," Markus paused as Gregor knelt down, clearing away the loose dead leaves to start sketching something in the dirt, "oh, thanks Gregor. We're probably not very far in, probably around, yes right there." He grinned up at Gregor as he placed an X on the drawing.

Ashe watched, fascinated, as what only could be a rough approximation of the landscape appeared under Gregor's fingertips. He drew quickly, from memory, but as if he was seeing the world from the air. Ashe barely looked up to acknowledge the others that gathered in to listen.

"We have limited options," Markus continued. "We know what's behind, but if we thought we could slip through, the way we came would be the quickest way out of the lands controlled by Morgoth. Or we could try to make for the Pass of Aglon, but that's a minimum of twenty days, and it's probably guarded as well. Although if we can lose those after us in this forest, we'll have an easier time getting through either of these passes, and Aglon is not guarded by Minas Tirith."

Ashe looked at the drawing. Rough spikes to represent mountains rose up in a wide U to cradle the lumpy shapes of the forest land they had entered. West was the pass they had come through, with the river Sirion flowing through it represented by a wiggling line. North of them Gregor scribbled some strange symbols instead of drawing anything, then he moved on to detailing other parts of the land. Markus had indicated the pass on the eastern side of the U as the Pass of Aglon, but as he had said, that was too far.

"What if we went through the mountains?" Ashe stabbed her finger due south of the X that represented them. She paused, feeling uncomfortable as everyone turned to stare at her, their faces showing open disbelief. "It would be a hard journey, I know that. But I've traveled through mountains before, I know how to survive them without paths." Their expressions didn't change. "What?" 

Gileth spoke up, their voice soft. "Those are the Ered Gorgoroth."

Ashe took a moment to translate that in her head. The Mountains of Terror. That didn't sound good.

"And beyond them is Nan Dungortheb," Markus added. "Not a good place."

"So we can't go that way," Ashe turned back to Gregor's drawing, feeling despair well up in her. There was no way they'd make it through either of the passes.

"Beren made it," Gregor said mildly.

"Beren was a legendary hero," Gileth answered. "And his journey drove him mad."

"We are," Markus paused to look at Ashe for a moment before continuing, "far from normal. It would be dangerous, more dangerous than getting this far, but I believe we could make it."

Mirandeth nervously swallowed. "They say that even the waters in the Ered Gorgoroth are poisoned by darkness. And Nan Dungortheb is worse."

"Both the other ways are shut," Ashe responded. "Do you think we have a chance of surviving Nan Dungortheb?"

Markus, Gregor, and Kir nodded, and at the same time Gileth and Mirandeth shook their heads.

"Perhaps you believe you can make it through that fell road, but do you really believe you can protect all of us along with your own precious sanity?" Gileth stood up. "I am thankful for your rescue attempt, but there is no escape, that is very clear now."

"Would you doom your people to death then?" Markus stood as well, sweeping his hands out to his side. "Because Ashe is right, we can't face the armies of Morgoth, and they will not follow us there."

"I would rather die with my mind my own than die with my mind lost to terror!"

"We won't die!" Gregor got to his feet as well. 

Gileth sighed. They placed a hand on Gregor's shoulder. "Let's explain the options to the others. I am not going to decide for anyone other than myself."

Ashe watched the two of them and Mirandeth walk away and begin talking to the others. "Who was Beren?" She asked Markus after a moment.

"A human, and a very long story. But he did make it through Ered Gorgoroth and Nan Dungortheb, and he did go mad, but he returned to his senses, and went on to do a number of great things."

"Do you know the path he took?"

"No, no one does. I doubt he remembered his journey, and if he did, he never spoke of it."

Ashe nodded, clenching and unclenching her jaw. Everything about this plan was sounding bad, but more than anything, she wanted to live. 

Markus noticed, and forced a grin. "Hey, don't worry about it. We can do this." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Besides, I've–"

Gileth and Gregor returned, both looking grim, and Markus shut his mouth.

"They're not coming with us," Gregor said flatly. His face was blank, his hands in tight fists at his side.

"That was fast," Kir muttered.

"None of them?" Ashe looked to Mirandeth, who caught her eye then quickly looked to the ground.

"We will travel with you until we find a defendable place, and then we will part." Gileth's jaw was set with determination. "We will take many of them down with us."

The ground was falling away, dropping out from underneath Aesling's feet. "But you'll all die! That's stupid!" She shouted, her voice cracking a little. "You can't just decide to do that!"

"If there's a chance to live you should take it!" Rare earnestly rung through Markus's tone. "Don't give up, not now, not yet."

"Obviously you cannot understand that you are guiding us not to life but to a terrible death!" Gileth's composure broke. "We have chosen to die with honor and strength." They turned to Ashe. "You know nothing of what lies ahead," they turned to Markus, "and you are either desperate or a fool, or both. I have no reason to trust either of your judgements."

"What about Gregor?" Ashe demanded.

"Or Kir," Markus added.

Kir shrugged noncommittally.

"Ashe I tried to convince them," Gregor answered. "I really did. But with what you hear about Ered Gorgoroth? Regular people don't even want to think about going there."

"But–" Ashe started.

"You four have freed us," Gileth interrupted. "You have given us the chance to make this decision. Let us make it." 

 

Gileth chose the spot, and the group halted to exchange provisions. Gregor gave away his bow and arrows, Gileth passed them as much food as they would agree to take. 

Ashe walked over to Mirandeth, and stood there, awkwardly for a moment.

"I can't believe you're doing this," she said at last.

"And I can't believe you're doing–" Mirandeth gestured to the south.

"Are you, okay?" Ashe asked, then laughed hollowly. What a stupid question.

"I've got this bow," Mirandeth plucked the string of her bow half-heartedly. It twanged.

"I," Ashe hesitated. "Look," she dug into a pocket, and pulled out a small stone knife. Knapped carefully and set into seal bone, the blade was barely larger than an arrowhead. "Here," she passed it to Mirandeth. "It won't be any use in a fight, but where I come from, it's a good luck charm. You need it more than me."

Mirandeth smiled, her face lighting up as Ashe dropped the charm into her hand. "Thank you," she said, her eyes beginning to water. "I've been, been scared my whole life, but with everyone," she swallowed, then reached for a pin on her chest. Undoing it, she handed it to Ashe. "Where I come from, it's a good luck charm. You need it more than me."

Ashe looked at the pin. Some kind of purple rock had been polished and carved into three leaves and set into brass. It was dinged and scratched here and there, but still seemed impossibly lovely.

"Thank you," she said, putting it on. Then, with nothing else to do, she turned towards the dark line of Ered Gorgoroth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that brings us to the end of this arc. I have very little of the next arc, Ered Gorgoroth a Nan Dungortheb, written, so things may move a little slowly. I do however have great plans for it, and am looking forward to writing it and sharing it with you all!


	10. Ered Gorgoroth a Nan Dungortheb: part 1

 

The ground rose and fell, each slope steeper than the last. Hilly land turned to foothills that arced towards the jagged mountain range ahead. Even Kir and Markus were silent as they picked their way around thornbushes and looming trees.

The trees watched them. Kir, Gregor, and Markus all felt their oppressive malice as if it were a weight on each step, but Ashe continued on grimly, warning them to break no twig and set no fire. She said that last part while looked directly at Markus and Kir. Markus was right though, these trees had been ill-used. They had a common enemy with the travelers, but that did not mean they were allies. 

Day darkened into night and they ate silently then set watches, not able to meet each other's eyes. Night passed and they rose to another clouded day. There had been no sign of other living beings throughout the night, no noise of far off battle. The whole land muffled out life. The crunch of dead leaves on the ground did not carry, but instead softened the sound. Anfauglith had been colorless, but this land was dying. What life it still had was in the hurt silence.

At least there was no sign of pursuit. As they climbed towards the foreboding peaks, there was no sign of anything at all.

 

The ground became rougher. There was no path to follow, which made their progress slow. Ashe picked her way across the land, zigging and zagging, but without fail always leading them back towards the south. 

They left the forest behind, which at first was a relief. Away from the glaring canopy, the endless feeling of being watched. But before long, Gregor began to miss the dark woods. The mountains, bare and unprotected, were cold. But more than that, they were tensed. Not ready to spring, but frozen in spot, panicked and stuck under some indescribable fear. Gregor kept glancing about, anticipating a strike. The wind whistled like arrows through the air. Arrows to pierce a heart, a horn blowing, a cry, a final pained scream. 

Ashe's hands were busy, forming symbols, warding against something. Kir's eyes would glaze over now and then, and then he'd pull something from his belt and begin fiddling with it frantically. Markus walked stooped under the weight of his pack, eyes flicking this way and that the only sign that he too was affected by the atmosphere.

 

When Ashe had said she knew how to travel through pathless mountains, she had spoke the truth. She lead them around gullies, guided them up and down cliffs. She clambered up pinnacles to get the lay of the land and looked out over great heights, hands white knuckled as she held herself to the stone. Then she'd come back down and lead them again along the edge of sheer walls or across precarious ledges beyond which, she promised, was more stable ground.

 

Night fell quickly. Despite Ashe's warning, they were caught suddenly in the dark while still trying to find a sheltered spot to rest. Giving up on finding any real shelter, they set their backs against a cliff and took whatever protection it would offer from the wind.

The wound on Gregor's side still hurt. He felt stiff all over, but the others did not seem to be doing well either. Markus whined as he poked at his feet, bruised from the sharp stones underneath his soft shoes. Ashe rubbed her temples, feeling the water rationing thud against her skull. Kyr fidgeted and fiddled endlessly.

Something to do with his hands would be nice. Something to distract from his dry mouth and aching side and the way the wind seemed to cry out with familiar last breaths.

"Hey Kir," he said, words feeling unfamiliar and heavy in his mouth. When was the last time he had spoken? It was to apologize to Ashe after knocked a loose stone down onto her ankle.

"Mmm?" Kir turned, surprised.

"Do you have anything for sewing?"

"Oh," Kir blinked. "Yes, I do. Do you want for leather or fabric?"

It was Gregor's turn to blink. "Um."

"Why don't I just give you both kinds." Kir rummaged through his pack. "It's not like they weigh much if you want to hang onto them." He pulled out a small box, and handed it to Gregor.

Gregor opened it cautiously and felt around, relying more on his touch than on his sight in the dark. Threading a needle might be difficult.

"Ashe," he said. "You should come over here so I can fix the hole in the back of your coat." His robe was still ripped, but twisting around to sew it sounded painful, and he didn't want to take it off.

"Oh, sure." Ashe crawled over carefully, and set her back to him, almost leaning against his knees that were pulled up to his chest.

"It might be a visible seam," Gregor apologized. "Since it's dark and I can't really see. Don't worry, I won't stab you."

Ashe shrugged. "There's already a bloodstain."

Ashe's coat smelled like several dead animals that had somehow sweat as they decayed, but Gregor breathed through his mouth as he found the leather working needle, and after a few minutes of trying, threaded it. Carefully, he felt out the gash, and stuck the needle through the furs, guiding it slowly around so that it did not even touch the shirt underneath. Pushing the needle through the other side of the hole, he pulled it taught, feeling the whole garment shift slightly as it realigned.

"Do you like sewing?" Ashe asked after several careful stitches. 

Gregor nodded, then realized Ashe couldn't see him. "Yes. I learned with the Outriders. Ventis, my old master, thought that it was important that everyone knew how to maintain their gear. And I really liked it. Sewing is," he paused. "It's good. It's relaxing, and it helps me think, to have something to do with my hands."

Ashe nodded. "I've always enjoyed carving. It's nice to make something. Making is so much more important than fighting."

Gregor smiled. "You can't fight if your clothes are falling off."

"Well you can try." Markus put in, his voice colored by the beginning of a grin. "Now _that_ would be something to see."

Kir snorted, and Gregor had to stop sewing as Ashe shook with stifled laughter. 

They quieted, and Gregor continued sewing.

"That certainly," Markus said, breaking the silence once more. "That certainly happened."

Gregor sighed. 

_Aryn had turned to him. "You stay here. Ventis wanted you to guard the hideout, so keep it secure until you hear news of us."_

_Gregor nodded seriously. Normally he would feel like he was being left behind, but this really was Ventis trusting him with a difficult job. Only five of them would remain, and he was in charge of protecting a hideout that was no longer hidden. Their enemies knew their location, and he would be outnumbered if an attack came. The chance of winning this battle was slim, but the cave was defendable and he was strong._

_"I won't let you down."_

_"I know you won't." Aryn smiled. "I'll be, we'll be back before you know it," she lied. "This will be easy."_

_He forgave her for lying. He forgave her immediately as she turned around and it looked like the weight of the world came to rest on her shoulders. He forgave her for trying to offer herself some sort of comfort as she walked away, pressing her head up against the sky, pushing her shoulders back and holding herself tall, to give no sign of how she felt._

_He had stood, and watched her leave. She did not look back._

_Saying goodbye to Gileth, and then turning, he saw that Markus, Ashe, and Kir were waiting for him. His journey was with them, as much as his feet felt rooted to the ground. His heart was heavy, and as Ventis had named him, he always went the way of his heart. So with the weight of it all, he moved towards his friends. He remembered Aryn. This was what it was like to be the one to walk away. He walked even though he felt as if hands were wrapped around his ankles, begging him to stay with desperate strength._

_He held his head high and his shoulders back, and blinked quickly to keep his vision clear. He did not look back._

"It sure did." Kir said, beside him.

Ashe sighed as well.

"Whenever you guys do something I don't understand," Kir continued, "I make a note of it. I write it down so that I can look it up later and add it to my people chart, or my talking chart, or something like that. But I don't really want to write this down."

"That's understandable." Markus said. "Also, at some point I would love to see your notes."

"Oh, well they're all in Khuzdul, but I could switch to Eglathrin if you like, or translate."

"Really? You'd do that for me?" 

"Of course! It's always better if you can share your research with someone. But I'm getting off track."

"Oh, yes, sorry. Do go on."

Kir took a breath. "I guess, I don't know what my point is, but this all is awful and I hate all of it and I don't want to learn anything from any of this."

Everyone was silent for a moment. Gregor couldn't think of what to say after that.

"Hey," Markus said, slinging an arm over Kir's shoulder and giving him a squeeze, "I'm sorry man."

"Sorry for what?" 

"I don't know. That you feel like that? That we brought you into this?"

Kir dismissively blew a raspberry. 

"If we're bringing who brought who into this, into this," Gregor said, "then I brought the two of you into this."

"Oh, we brought ourselves into this, don't worry about it," Markus said, his teeth flashing in the dark.

"I thought, maybe, that I could do some good," Ashe said. She lifted her left hand, staring at it, turning it over. "With all this power, but still..." She clenched her fist.

"Gileth was telling me," Gregor said. "When we were saying goodbye. She wanted us to know that we hadn't failed. That we had freed them. That against the power of Morgoth, this is what victory looks like."

"This can't be success. I won't accept that." Ashe took a deep breath, her whole frame shuddering slightly. "Next time, we will do better."

"Yeah," Gregor nodded. He kept sewing.

 

Gregor had heard plenty of metaphors about mountains. They are knife blades, they are claws, they are a jaw of broken teeth trying to tear into the sky.

He had expected that, when in the mountains, these metaphors wouldn't hold. Nothing is the same up close as it is far away. From a hilltop, a forest is an unbroken sea. At the roots, it is a maze of trunks.

But the mountains, mountains were so vast that even with their peaks so much closer now, they still towered. Above him, in the breaks in the mist, their sharp spines glared down. 

The next few days of travel were much like the first. He continued to flinch and look about as he heard what he could have sworn were arrows whistling past. The cliffs still sheer, the way they went unmarked, the steep slopes of shale still treacherous. Yet as they ascended, the air also became thinner, each step more laborious than the last, and his side was getting worse.

It hurt. The wound panged with each step and throbbed at every other moment. It felt hot, as if his whole side were next to a camp fire, but still he shivered against the wind.

He felt, so acutely, a growing sense a dread. He tried to dismiss it. He was getting tired, that was all. Little sleep, little water, and he couldn't stop thinking of the Outriders. Their faces in those final moments of terror under a rain of arrows. Their cries were the wind's cries, their gasps were the shifting of rocks. Even the dull thud of his heartbeat in his ears became the sound of a head hitting the ground as the executioner's axe rose again for the next one. But these were all tricks. Tricks of the mountains. It was not only the water that was poisoned with fear. He could see how easy it would be to go mad in this place.

 

It was very clear to Kir, son of Firor, that they were not going to make it through the Ered Gorgoroth and the valley beyond with the amount of water they had. They would need to drink the water here, no mater how much darkness was in it. And while that was certainly a problem, who was he, if not a problem solver? 

He was going to fix this, and it did not mater that the water had been poisoned by the brood of Ungoliant, or that as far as he knew darkness was not some chemical compound. He had so much to prove, after being so useless in the fight against the orcs. What's more, even though he had joined them as a guide, Ashe was doing the guiding now, and she'd never even heard of this place! But he was going to save them; he wasn't going to be a burden on his new friends! Or at least, he assumed they were friends. He assumed that this was how friendship worked.

No one noticed his tinkering. Ashe always had her sharp eyes ahead, despite the bags underneath them, and Markus and Gregor followed her laboriously. Not that, he told himself, it bothered him that no one seemed to notice him, he was used to being alone. 

He could be fine on his own. He had been many for years; he'd keep surviving. But still, he felt like he was becoming invisible. Like the mountains were eating the color out of him until he'd fade away. Without his color, without his noise, there was no reason to remember him. But the cold wind dried his tongue, stopping the words. So he needed to succeed at this, so that he wasn't useless, so that that he wasn't forgotten.

Kir twirled a vial of water from a spring they had passed. He held it up to peer through it. Grit particles spun around, then slowly settled to the bottom, leaving a clear liquid. It looked like water: clean as any he'd found in the mountains before, but moving it about made him notice something odd. Yes, there it was. Though the sky was dark and grey with clouds, sunlight still filtered through such barriers. He knew there was light with empirical fact because he could see, and the water should have reflected that light. When held up to the sky it should be catching it, warping it, doing what water always does. But it didn't. It was like it was in perpetual shade. In the palm of his hand he held clear water from a dark pond. A small sample of a deep well.

Kir shuffled about, pulling his notebook out of his belt to make note of this. "Darkness water is always dark," he wrote, starting in Khuzdul but scratching in out and switching over to Eglathrin. He looked at it. With no context, it seemed like the notes of a madman, or just stupidly obvious. But science was like that sometimes. Every note, every fact, mattered. 

He put the book and charcoal pencil away, then pulled some mineral salts out of his sleeve. It was time for the next test.

 

Exhausting day faded into sleepless night and back into exhausting day. Ashe shouldn't have been this tired already, after all she knew what her limits were, but the cold here was unlike the cold of the north. In the north, it was simply a presence. A constant threat. You treated it with respect: just as you didn't stick your hand into a fire, you didn't go outside without the proper gear. 

But this cold was not the familiar natural force that Ashe knew well. This cold had a hunger. This whole place wanted to eat away at her, tear her apart, pull at what held her together until she unraveled into nothing. When she sent a jolt through herself to keep awake, she felt as if the stones were cracking with glee to see her become just a little more torn, just a little more faded. But that had to be her overactive imagination. It had to be her paranoia. It was just a collection of stones and ice and dirt, it couldn't feel a twisted glee.

She tried not to dwell on it. It was good that she had to focus on finding the way.

"Yes!" 

Ashe started at Kir's shout, fear jolting through her before she began to process. She whipped around, ready to fight, as her mind slowly turned over the word, slowly hearing it as joy.

"Yes!" Kir shouted again, holding two vials in the air. "I've done it! Or at least, I think I've done it! I am reasonably confident that I have succeeded." He looked at Ashe and Markus, then back to Gregor who was leaning heavily on his glaive and bringing up the rear. 

Ashe stared at him blankly.

Kir shrunk a little, then widened his stance. He straightened his back, thrust out his chest, and raised his chin up. "Nope I've definitely done it, because I, Kir, son of Firor, am a genius."

Markus stared, slack-jawed for a moment, before he blinked and shook himself. "What did you do?"

"I found a cure to the darkness in the water!" Kir waved the pair of vials about. Each were filled with a clear liquid. "Now, how do you feel about completely untested medicism?" He glanced about expectantly.

"No," Ashe said. She didn't feeling up to finding the words to express how deeply she felt.

"Extremely curious!" Markus said brightly.

Kir started to offer the vials to Markus, then quickly drew them back, giving him an appraising look. "Are you," he paused, thinking. "Is whatever you are similar to a dwarf? Or a human?"

Ashe thought back to when she had healed him, his blood a dark purple and steaming from some internal heat. She had thought that since they both didn't know what they were, they might have been the same. But if they were the same sort of creature, their kind was a diverse one.

"I should be similar enough," Markus said, shifting his feet slightly. 

"Markus," Ashe leaned towards him. "This is a bad idea. We have no idea what that stuff even is."

Markus looked directly into Ashe's eyes, a serious expression on his face. Then, with only the slight crook of a grin as a warning, he lunged past her.

Ashe's eyes widened as Markus snatched one of the vials out of Kir's hand and downed it.

"Markus no!" Ashe shouted in frustration.

"Wait!" Kir shouted. "What are you doing?" He stood frozen. Only his eyes moved, following the slight arc of Markus lowing the now empty vial. Still Kir stared, caught in the moment right before action.

The spell broke, and he moved all at once. He popped the seal off of the other vial, and in one long step closed the distance between him and Markus. He pushed the vial into Markus's hand, the other one knocked free and tumbling. Glass shattered on the ground as Kir closed Markus's now shaking fingers. 

"Drink it!" He shouted, wild eyes looking up into dilating pupils. "Drink it now!"

Markus frowned slightly, thin eyebrows knitting together as he looked down at Kir with a complete lack of recognition. But he drank the vial.

"Wha–" Ashe said, feeling as though she was struggling to catch her breath after a long sprint. "What is going on? What's happening to him? _What did you do to him?_ " She took a step forward.

"He should have– what the fuck Ashe I didn't do this! He was too fast! You can put the sword down!"

Ashe started to take another step towards him, then paused, looking down at her hand. She hadn't noticed drawing her sword. "Oh, I..." She stared at the cold shine of the metal.

"Great, good, now help me grab him before he tumbles off the cliff or something!"

"What?" Ashe scrambled to grab his arm.

As her fingers gripped around his now shaking arm, she hear a thump from behind. Turning, she saw Gregor's form limp on the ground. One arm arced up around his head, glaive gripped loosely in it, he lay more like a tossed aside doll than like a person. He didn't move. Didn't groan like he'd tripped, didn't shift about to try to find a more comfortable spot on the bare rock. He just lay there.

"Gregor!" She cried. She could feel it all gripping now at her heart as the world spun faster and faster and she moved slower and slower. It was all blurring into what was always at her core, that hardened ball of fear she knew so well. The wicked mountains, unmoving, were finally making their strike. They loomed ever closer as their terror struck true. 

She pulled on Markus, not knowing if she should let go of him or drag him with her. "Help!" She shouted. "Gregor no, help! I can't carry both of you!"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:3c


	11. Ered Gorgoroth a Nan Dungortheb: part 2

 

Kir sat on top of Markus, staring down at the ground between his feet. The weight of Kir was the only thing keeping Markus from scrambling off somewhere. Even though the man was taller by a good foot and a half, Kir was the brick to Markus's twig.

With the squirming came a constant murmur. Markus muttered ceaselessly in what was either an unknown tongue or all of the languages at once. Kir took his symptoms to mean that the formula could be working. Given that this was different from the howling madness the legends spoke of, Kyr had hope. Markus may (since the first vial was supposed to be the second) have accidentally poisoned himself, but it should work its way out of his system. Hopefully. The question was how long, and if they had that sort of time.

Beside the two of them, Gregor lay tucked into the lee of a boulder. When he fell, Kir thought that he had just seen a friend die, but Ashe grabbed onto Gregor's limp body and green lightning ran over the both of them. 

Now Gregor's eyes moving restlessly under closed lids, shivering even with Ashe's coat. Ashe had folded her coat about him carefully, tucking him in, her bare arms now prickling with bumps as the cold hit them. She rubbed them, self-consciously gripping the two dark bands near her shoulders, before promising that she would be back soon.

Time was hard to measure under the grey sky, and fear crept onto the young dwarf. What if something were to happen to her while she was alone, leaving him to take care of both Gregor and Markus. His mind kept straying towards that possibility, but it felt like it stopped there. He couldn't even imagine what the next step would be. It was like his mind was hitting up against a wall, a blank that said "no, don't think about this, it's too horrible to even begin to understand."

Markus reached up a hand and loosely gripped at Kir's face. Kir decided he was fine with this, as long as no fingers went up his nose. It was important to have boundaries, after all.

 

It was to Kir's immense relief when he spotted Ashe climbing back towards them. He felt like jumping up and down and waving to her as she made her approach, but he worried about what Markus might do. He seemed like he was in an entirely different world now, and he very much wanted to explore it. And knowing Markus, likely explore it right off a very real ledge. So instead Kir remained seated as he waved vigorously.

"I found a cave," Ashe said as a way of greeting. "We'll be safer there than out here."

Kir took a deep breath. "Listen Ashe, I wasn't, I mean, look if he'd had the second one first and then waited he would have been fine. He was just so fast! How could he be so fast? He's got almost no muscles. I swear that it wasn't my fault, I'd never poison–"

"Kir," Ashe interrupted. She looked at him for a few seconds, her bright eyes narrowing. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

"Please Ashe, I'm sorry, I swear I didn't–"

"Kir!" Ashe said forcefully. "I said: I don't want to talk."

Kir closed his mouth.

Ashe bent over Gregor and started moving him about, putting her coat onto him. He whined as she lifted up his right arm to put it into the sleeve. She then started struggling to lift him.

"Um," Kir said. "Markus is lighter."

Ashe set Gregor down carefully. "Can you carry him?"

"I am pretty strong," Kir said, standing up. "Watch out with Markus though, he's a kicker."

 

Ashe lead the way, zig-zagging carefully down a steep slope and then hiking the long way around a ridge. There was no climbing to be done while caring someone, especially Markus. Kir could simply drape Gregor about his shoulders like a big totallynotdying cat, but Ashe had to wrap Markus into a ball in his cape and then carry him.

It was getting dark by the time Ashe turned a corner and walked into what appeared as a hole in the mountainside. Kir followed after her, blinking in a vain attempt to see in the gloom.

"The cave doesn't go very far back," Ashe's voice bounced about the angled rock. "And I think there's something like a shelf near the back. You can put Gregor there."

Kir stumbled forward, foot catching on the uneven floor. He caught himself, swaying a little on his feet. Into the darkness he stretched out a hand, groping through the thin air until his hand hit the wall. Slowly he made his way forward, feeling out until he found the stony sill Ashe must have been talking about.

Carefully, he lay Gregor down there. Gregor groaned, shifting about slightly. Kir didn't know if that was a good sign or no.

Kir swung off his pack and opened it, digging through various things until he found a lantern. He lit it, and then he and Ashe got their first look at the cave.

They were not the first creatures to take shelter here, that much was clear. There were rust colored splashes on the walls. White lines criss-crossed each other, made by tool or by enormous sharp claws scraping away at the rock. In the center of the cave there was a ring of fist sized stones, and the ground within the circle was soot-black.

"Ashe," said Kir, his voice quavering. He turned to look at her. She stood still, turning her head and blinking in the light. She gave no sign of feeling the terror that he felt mounting inside him. "Ashe," he said again, feeling himself begin to shake, "we're not alone here."

She shook her head. "No, we're okay. Smell that?"

Kir sniffed the air. He smelled just the familiar damp cold rock of the mountain. "No?" He said.

"Exactly. Whatever was here has been gone for a long time. It doesn't smell like blood or smoke anymore."

Kir nodded. It made sense. He tried to will himself to relax.

Ashe put Markus down in at corner, and wrapped his cape tighter about him. "Can you hold the light over Gregor so that I can get a good look at him?"

Kir positioned himself, standing on the balls of his feet and holding the light as high as he could. Ashe leaned down over Gregor. She pulled her coat carefully off him, then opened his robe.

Both of them sucked air between their teeth as the light hit his skin. The cut on his right side, the one from Nerak, was far from healed. It oozed, and the flesh around it was several colors the mixed and then unified to surround the wound with an angry shade of red. From it snaked red lines, jagged lighting strikes making their way towards his heart. Nearly touching his heart.

And above his heart, Kir noticed, was a strange brand.

It was in the shape of a beast, a winged snake with it's fangs bared, curled to nearly form a circle. But the circle did not close, and through it, crossing diagonally, a spear pierced the creature. The spear too, was winged, or perhaps wreathed in flame.

Ashe did not remark on the brand, but let out a string of curses as she began to shake. "He should have told me. Why didn't he mention this. I could have fixed it. I could have–" she broke off, sucking in a breath. "The idiot! Was he just trying to be tough? The absolute idiot I cannot believe!" She rounded on Kir. "You're not hiding any injuries from me, are you?" The light flashed in her eyes.

"No I'm not." Kir stumbled back a few steps, holding his arms up. He didn't mention the blister on his left foot. Keeping quiet about that seemed safer.

Ashe paused, staring at him for a moment. He could see under her eyes the dark bags, more like bruises than like anything else.

"Fuck," she said, her back straightening. Her hand went to her sword, but just run her fingers over the pommel. "Okay, this is how things are going to be, isn't it? This is just my life now. And that's fine. That's just fine." Ashe rubbed her hands together, centering herself.

She turned over to Kir. "I'm going to try to heal Gregor. I'll be able to start I think, but I can't beat back the infection and close the wound; I don't have enough power. Even if I..." She trailed off for a moment, then picked up the thought once more. "I don't have enough power, but I've got enough to keep him alive."

"What can I do?" He could boil water, or maybe make some potion, or maybe–

"Give me the lantern, and then keep watch over Markus."

Kir hoped that Ashe didn't notice the way his shoulders slumped and the breath ran out of him. She gave no sign of noticing at least, or no sign of caring. He handed her the lantern then went over to the corner with Markus and sat down next to him. He pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging them close. Next to him Markus squirmed in his wrappings, muttering still in a mix of familiar sounds and animal cries. Seeing that he was fine for the moment, Kir rested his chin on his knees, and looked towards Ashe and Gregor.

Ashe set the lantern down on the same ledge as Gregor. Carefully she took off her bracers, dropping them to the ground beside her, revealing more dark curving tattoos on her skin. She took another deep breath. 

With that lungful of air Kir felt the pressure in the cave change. From Ashe poured out the smell of a coming storm. Her eyes glowed brighter, their normal shade shifting to become colder as green light mixed with gold. Sparks gathered about her. They formed on the lines on her skin, and Kir saw from their glow the many patterns that covered Ashe's body. The lightning flowed through her; it danced down her arms and gathered about her hands, flicking and crackling from finger to finger.

She lunged forward, pressing her hands against Gregor's chest.

The two of them were still, in the way that shapes and chaos seems still when a single strike of lightning illuminates the dark for a split second. Gregor and Ashe were like statues as they blazed with light, then Gregor began to scream.

He jolted and spasmed. His scream, at first high, became gurgled as he choked and foamed. He flailed about, kicking and shuddering all beyond his control. To contrast, Ashe was still. Her hands pressed down on his chest, unmoved as his back arced and struggled beneath her. He grasped at things, his eyes open now and staring, wide and unseeing at everything.

Kir lowered his eyes to the ground and covered his ears. He watched the shadows on the cave floor dance as the light writhed and flickered. He waited for it to be over.

 

Eventually the light faded, until all that was left was the warm orange of his lantern shining steadily, casting still shadows. Eventually all he heard was the soft rush of his own blood through his hands. 

Shakily, he got up. He wasn't sure why he was shaky, all he'd done was sit in a corner and wish that he wasn't there. Not like he'd actually helped his friends.

Ashe lay unmoving, half on Gregor and half on the floor, as if her arms and legs had collapsed out from underneath her. Her head moved up and down with the rise and fall of Gregor's chest. He was breathing deeply now, and strongly.

Kir crept over to the two of them. Gregor seemed to have more life in him now, with color returned to his cheeks. He looked more like he was sleeping peacefully instead of struggling through some dream. It was now Ashe who looked sickly. Although sickly was not quite right, with the way she lay so still. Hollow was the word that rose to his mind, although he was not sure why he thought of it. Or why it seemed to fit her so well.

He poked at her, at first gently, then getting more rough as she made no response. He felt that dark tide rising up in him, threatening to drown him, to cloud his thinking. He grabbed her and dragged her over, pulling her flopping body until he managed to turn her onto her back. He pressed his ear to her chest, listening desperately for a sign of life.

At first all he heard was the sound of fabric brushed against his ear, but as he stilled, he heard it. Faint, but steady. And as he listened, he heard her breathing too, shallow and slow, but like her heartbeat, there and reassuring. 

Hooking his arms under her shoulders, he dragged her onto what looked like a less uncomfortable spot on the floor. He set her down, then unclipped his cape from his back. It would be a bit short on her, not enough for a full blanket, but her coat was still on Gregor. Laying his cape over her, he looked at her expectantly. He expected her to shift, to curl up and grip the fabric as if she were just asleep. Really he hoped for anything, and sign that she still had some awareness in her body. Anything to show that she was still there, any promise that she would come back. 

She did nothing. He went back to Gregor.

Kir wiped the foam from around Gregor's mouth. His skin was hot and dry. Perhaps the flush he had mistaken for health was one of fever. Looking over his chest as he tied his robes closed, he saw that the lines of the infection had retreated away from his heart, but they were still present. His wound still looked very bad, a deep and discolored slash. And yet he seemed miles better. Ashe had likely brought him back from the brink of death, Kir thought with a shiver. 

He took Gregor's right arm, ready to guide it back into the thick sleeve of Ashe's coat, when he felt fingers close around his wrist. Looking up in shock, he saw Gregor's eyes open and focused on him.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, calling back a mostly forgotten memory of his own father. He tried to mimic that kind reassurance he had heard spoken over him when he was sick.

"Water," Gregor croaked, his voice rough and thin, like a hide dragged over sharp rocks.

"Hold on," Kir said, going to step away only to feel Gregor's fingers tighten. He looked back. "Aha, nice one Gregor!" He grinned, and was relieved to see Gregor grin as well. "But really, you need to let go of my arm so that I can get you water."

As the grip slackened, and Gregor's arm fell limp back at his side, Kir felt tears begin to prick at his eyes. Gregor was still there, with his soft sense of humor. 

He had thought of Ashe as his last companion. He hadn't admitted it to himself but he and Ashe, they were the last ones standing. With Ashe on the floor, _gone_ like that, he was alone. Alone in a cave full of claw marks and old blood in mountains where no dwarf would ever dig their halls. But he wasn't alone. Gregor was there with him, weak but alive and still himself. Kir turned quickly so that Gregor couldn't see him cry. Gregor didn't need to worry about him, didn't need to know that Ashe was comatose, Markus was in another world, and Kir was weeping because he was so glad to see him awake.

He pulled a water skin out of his pack. Already it was his last one, and the water in it was supposed to last him all the next day and into the day after. But there was no way they were making it out in two days. He took a moment to compose himself, then returned to give Gregor every last drop of it. He hadn't liked the papery dryness of his skin. 

Soon, Gregor went back to sleep. Kir blew some air into the now empty water skin and resealed it, then slipped it under his head. Water, they still needed it. Kir pulled more things out of his bag and began setting them up around the old fire circle. It was time to get brewing. If Ashe was unconscious, she couldn't tell him to stop, and he knew what he was capable of.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Kir save them all or screw things up even further? Is Ashe okay? Tune in next time to– wow I came up with the least catchy title didn't I.
> 
> On a different note, I'm really enjoying playing with the idea that Beren could have been the one to take shelter in this cave. Whoever was there all those years ago had enough of their senses left to mind fire safety at least. Of course, while no one knows the path Beren took, he probably entered the Ered Gorgorth many days east of where the party entered, so it seems unlikely that Beren was there. However it might lend the party hope, if they believed they were following the footsteps of a great hero.


	12. Ered Gorgoroth a Nan Dungortheb: part 3

            Ashe woke slowly, moving out of dark and confusing dreams into dark and confusing consciousness. She was lying on rough stone, curled into a tight ball under a blanket, with no memory of going to sleep.

            Carefully she opened her eyes. Light hit her like ice against skin. She closed them again, pulling the fabric she lay under up over her head.

            By the gods did she feel sick.

            She waited, trying to focus through the pounding in her head to piece together what was happening.

            She was in the Ered Gorgoroth. The memories coming back to her were just as terrifying as the fading dream she had escaped from. Gregor. She was beating back the sickness in his blood. She could remember it, the tear, the burning, all to beat it back. And from there, nothing.

            Cautiously, she tried moving. The nausea was still there, but it wasn't enough to make her wretch. She cracked open her eyes. The light, dim, orange, and filtered through fabric still felt painful, but her eyes began to adjust. Moving slowly, she opened her eyes wider, propping herself up on one elbow, pulling what she now realized to be Kir's cape off her head.

            There was a fire in the center of the cave. Ashe couldn't get a good look at the core of it, the light was too bright, but from her first glance she hadn't seen any fuel. Beside the fire sat Kir, who was sitting on top of Markus. He was working away at something intricate, and didn't seem to be aware of anything other than the device he held in his hands.

            Ashe cleared her throat, wincing at how dry it was. "Kir?" She said.

            Kir's head jerked up. He glanced to his left then to his right, then turned back to his left and looked down to see Ashe. A smile spread across his face.

            "Ashe!" He shouted. His words bounced off of the walls and Ashe made a noble effort to not show her displeasure.

            "I'm so glad to see you up!" Kir continued. "I was worried about you. Are you okay?"

            Ashe nodded, feeling the world spin a little. "I'm fine," she croaked.

            "The safe water is by Gregor," Kir said.

            "Safe water?" Ashe mumbled to herself, trying to figure out why that adjective was needed. Then a more urgent thought crossed her mind. "Gregor! How is he?"

            Kir frowned. "I don't know? He's woken up a few times while you were out. The first two times we talked a little and he knew where we were, the third time I think the fever was worse and he seemed confused."

            Ashe stumbled as she stood up, but righted herself. Pulling the cape with her, she walked over to the small pile of water skins and drank a few mouthfuls. Then she leaned over Gregor, checking him.

            As Kir had said, he was running a fever. He was better than Ashe's last memory of him, but not as healed as she had hoped, and she had given him all she had.

            She turned to see Kir had craned his head around to watch her. "I would have helped you up," he said, "but the moment I let up any weight Markus goes right for the fire. How is he?" He jerked his head towards Gregor.

            "Sick," Ashe said. "I'm just going to have to help him fight it, I'm not strong enough to fight it for him."

            "Gregor's really strong though, right?"

            Ashe nodded. "He is." She walked over to join Kir by the fire, sitting down.

            She stared at the flames for a moment. They moved and shifted, just like a normal fire, but at the center of it she now saw a metal contraption about the size of two fists. "How long was I out?" She asked.

            "It's hard to say," Kir said. "My portable sundial is pretty useless here, but I think about a day?"

            "Oh. Oh wow. Did you not try to wake me?"

            "I tried, it didn't work," he said flatly.

            Ashe nodded, then realized what that meant. "I didn't mean to worry you," she said, avoiding looking at his face.

            "I'm just, so glad you're okay and awake now."

            They sat quietly, looking at the fire in front of them. Slowly, Ashe realized what was bothering her about it. The fire didn't crackle, it hissed. There were no pops, just a soft sound, like a breath constantly released between teeth.

            "Say Ashe," Kir said, breaking the silence. "Can I ask you a weird question?"

            Every single muscle in Ashe's body tensed. "Sure," she said, trying to sound casual.

            "Do I seem sane to you?"

            Ashe stared at him. He stared back, leaning forward slightly, his head cocked just to the side.

            "Yes?" She ventured.

            Kir let out a huge sigh, and then grinned. "Excellent!" He put down what he'd been working on and pulled out his notebook, scribbling something in it. "Sanity is so difficult to observe on yourself! But that's a very good sign for sure!"

            "What?" Ashe managed.

            "Okay," Kir held up his hand, "before you yell at me, I want you to stop and think about this. With this slow down we don't have enough water. In fact, we never had enough water to make it, and you must have known that."

            Ashe frowned, then put two and two together. "You drank the same thing as Markus."

            "Yes, but _I_ drank it in the right order, and both Markus and I drank the water from here while you were out."

            When Ashe didn't say anything, he continued. "It made me really sad for approximately two minutes, and Markus cried a little, but otherwise it's had no negative effect on us and all the positives of proper hydration."

            Still, Ashe stared.

            "Okay, I cried as well, but that wasn't really a relevant detail."

            "So, you drank it, and you're okay?" Ashe felt as if she were thinking through a dense fog.

            "Yes. And you should drink it too."

            "But it's bad."

            Kir sighed. "I know you must be so dehydrated, and you're not thinking clearly. I want to save all the safe water for Gregor, he's got enough stuff going on with his system without me adding to it. And really, I'm fine, right?" He looked at her. "Right? _Right?_ "

            Her lips were very chapped. That, and the way her throat hurt when she swallowed, and the how the thought of just being able to drink as much water as she wanted seemed like the highest blessing, those things were what made her slowly nod. "Okay." She held out her hand to Kir.

            Carefully, Kir placed a vial on her upturned palm, and waited to release it until he was sure she had it.

            She pulled the small cork out of it and drank. It didn't seem any different than normal water.

            "Now what?"

            Kir pulled out a candle marked with evenly spaced rings, and lit it. "Now we wait."

 

            Everything was very bright. Bright and warping, bright and shifting, bright and flickering. Everything was as if it were flames, Markus realized. He was in the center of a world of fire.

            The flames were not only reds and oranges, but greens, pinks, blues, and every other color imaginable and unimaginable. They spiraled through hues, ever changing.

            Markus wandered through them. He was seeking something, although he could not be sure what. As he walked, the world took shape. The flames danced and melded together, forming scenes that became more and more distinct, but just as he neared comprehension they vanished into meaningless fire.

            It is difficult to define eternity. One may think it means "a very long time" or, more accurately, "endless." But neither of these touch the truth. Eternity can end. To wander for an eternity simply means that it is the wandering that was significant, and the amount of time spent wandering does not impact the significance of it. To wander through forever transforming flames means that to try to say how long one spends there is dizzying. Any true description would feel too short. Two days seems just as false as one hundred years, because they cannot apply to an experience that is entirely without time.

            Markus wandered through the fire for an eternity.

Something about it, as much as it was beautiful, made him want to leave. There was something beyond this place that he wanted to return to, people that he cared about. The shapes of fire were getting clearer. There was something that he believed in.

            Slowly and all at once, the light began to fade. It got darker, more red. The dancing shapes stilled, becoming solid, until the only things that moved were the shadows. The physical forms that cast them were still, and the only light was a single orange fire.

            Markus felt again. His body, it's two legs, a tail, two arms, a head, and a weight on his chest. It pressed down on him, pinning him against rough stone. He looked up and saw in profile someone familiar.

            In this light, his wavy auburn hair shined like polished copper. Mussed up as it was, it caught the light at many different angles, creating a complex geometry of light and shadow. The same was true of his face: his nose, his cheeks, his lips – all defined by angles and curves and life. And his eyes, how they shined, as they looked down, focused on what was ahead of him.

            As Markus stared up at this face, he realized he had returned from a long journey.

            "Kir," he said.

            Kir jerked his head up, blinked, then to look down at him. "Markus?"

            "I have wandered long, in such loneliness, but now, at last, I have returned to see your face."

            Kir stared at him. "No, you just poisoned yourself."

            Markus thought about this. "That doesn't sound like something I would do."

            Kir's brow knit together. "Listen man, I made some potentially volatile potions, and you grabbed them out of my hands and drank them without asking me for instructions!"

            Markus frowned. "Okay, _that_ sounds like something I would do."

            Kir looked at him, then smiled a little. "I'm glad your back."

            "It is good to be back," Markus said emphatically. "Say, could you get off me?"

            "Promise me that you won't immediately dive into the fire?"

            He glanced over to the fire, then back up at Kir. "I mean, it is a _very_ nice fire."

            "Thank you! It _is!_ But you're not going to jump into it." He looked Markus dead in the eyes.

            "It was a joke; I'm not going to jump in the fire."

            Kir stood up, and offered his hand down to Markus.

            Markus took a deep breath as it abruptly became easier, then grabbed onto Kir's arm. Kir started trying to raise it up as Markus pulled it towards him. Kir stumbled, trying to stabilize the weight but tripped over Markus's legs. He pitched forwards, just managing to throw himself to the side, away from Markus and the fire.

            Seeing Kir fall, Markus instinctively tightened his grip, and felt his arm wrenched to the side. Pulled this momentum, Markus flopped over, landing across Kir.

            "Ow!" They said in unison.

            Markus focused on untangling his legs from Kir's, then pushed himself up using the dwarf's shoulder. He swayed on his feet for a moment, feeling his heart pump as blood flowed through previously cramped limps.

            Something collided with his side, and in an instant he was on the ground once more. He struggled, scratching and pushing at the force that was pinning him down.

            "I've got him!" The force shouted. "Don't worry Kir, I've got him!"

            "Ashe?" Markus said, beginning to see the shock of white hair and outline of a person. He relaxed, realizing he wasn't under attack.

            "Yes," Ashe said as she grabbed his wrists. "I'm Ashe, now just hold still."

            Despite the knee in his gut, Markus grinned. "It's okay Ashe, I'm back."

            "Mhm," Ashe said. Then she paused, giving him a searching look. "You seem remarkable lucid. Are you, are you back?"

            "What a journey I have been on, and yes, I am back."

            "He's definitely back," Kir pipped up.

            “I’m back, and it is good to be here and have form once again, even if,” he craned his head to look around, “our surroundings are rather dismal.”

            Ashe let him up. “Sorry, I saw you standing over Kir…”

            “Kir was just helping me up,” he said mildly.

            “I did it completely smoothly,” said Kir.

            “It was really remarkable.” He hoped she hadn’t seen them tripping over each other.

            “You really should have seen it Ashe.”

            “They should write a poem about it. Just to sing a song of praise. The muscles of Kir son of Firor and the grace of Markus Velafi.”

            Ashe looked at the two of them, unconvinced. “Well, I’m glad you’re back at least.”

            “So am I. What happened while I was gone?”

            “Right,” Kir stood up. “Ashe, did you find anything?”

            Ashe passed him her pack. “I found some lichen that you can experiment on. There’s barely anything out there, and nothing that I recognized.”

            Kir opened the bag, then frowned. Markus looked over his shoulder and frowned as well.

            “How long was I out for? Are we running out of food?”

            “Not yet, but we may be here for a while,” Ashe said. “Although,” she looked at him. “You should come talk to me about Gregor.”

            “Right!” Markus nodded, feeling a final patch of memories rush back. “Where is the fourth member of our little band? Out foraging as well?”

            Ashe and Kir exchanged a long look, then Ashe grabbed Markus’s arm and lead him to the back of the cave.

            Gregor’s face was deeply flushed. He opened his eyes when Ashe gently shook him.

            “Is it time again?” He asked, his voice faint.

            “No, I don’t think so. But look who’s here.”

            Gregor tried to sit up, but his face contorted into unpleasant lines and Ashe guided him back down.

            Markus stepped forward, trying to keep any expression of worry from his face. “Hey buddy, how are you feeling?”

            “Markus?” Gregor said hopefully. “You’re okay now?”

            “Yes,” he said firmly.

            “See?” Ashe said. “I told you he’d get better. Now I’m gonna look at your wound, okay?”

            Gregor nodded.

            Markus leaned into Ashe, lowering his voice. “What _happened?_ He looks like he’s dying.”

            “The cut from Nerak didn’t get cleaned, and sickness got into his blood,” Ashe said as she pushed her coat off of him and pulled open his robe.

            “Why was he worrying about me? He’s got enough going on.”

            “He’s not dumb, he only saw me or Kir, so he knew something was going on. Plus when there was the screaming we—”

            “The what?”

            Ashe stopped what she was doing to look him directly in the eyes. “Once you screamed for two hours without stopping. We had to explain to Gregor what was going on, which was a little difficult since he’s not always lucid and _we didn_ _’t know what was going on._ ”

            Markus winced. “Sorry about that.”

            “Yeah. You better promise to never do anything like that ever again.”

            Markus nodded. “Of course. I promise to never do anything so fooling ever again.” From then on, he’d always ask Kir for instructions before consuming anything he made.

            “Good. Now,” Ashe dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’ve been doing all I can for him, but that just seems to be enough to keep him alive, keep him from getting worse. I’m not strong enough to heal him properly, I don’t have to power.”

            Markus nodded, trying to keep his face calm as Ashe showed him the wound, aware of Gregor’s eyes on him. “Do you have a plan?” He whispered back.

            “You have power, right? It’s different from mine, but maybe if we worked together, or if you could just lend me some of yours?”

            Markus thought about power, his own fire and the energy under Ashe’s skin. How she shaped her power and how he unleashed his. They seemed utterly at conflict.

            “I don’t know how I’d even begin, or if it’s possible.”

            “Do you think we could try?”

            Markus sighed. “I’m worried hurting you, or hurting him. I’m no healer.”

            Ashe sighed, looking for a moment very haggard, but she nodded. “I guess it was worth asking.”

            “Is there an alternative plan?”

            “Tomorrow we set out, and we carry Gregor out of here and to some place where we can rest for a while. I can keep him alive for months, but he needs something more wholesome than these mountains. They don’t want him to heal.”

            Markus opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a shout from Kir.

            “Yuck! No that is not eatable!”

            The both turned to see Kir spitting out some partially chewed lichen.

            Ashe’s mouth dropped open. “Did you just try to eat it?”

            “Well, I needed to test it somehow.”

            “And that was the best you could think of?”

            “I mean...” Kir started.

            Ashe grabbed onto Markus, dragging him in front of her and shaking him slightly. “Have we learned nothing!?”

 

            Even though Markus seemed fine, Ashe watched him closely for the rest of the day. The next day they set off, with Ashe and Markus carrying the majority of the gear and Kir carrying Gregor.

            It was slow going, even though Ashe had had a chance to explore the area near the cave and find a path forwards. They were weighed down, and the slopes were still treacherous.

            As they descended, the wind began to pick up, carrying on it the scent of something foul. Ashe couldn’t place it as anything she’d smelled before, for it smelled old but not stale, deep but not of stone, a darkness that did not know night.

            Markus smelled it too. “I don’t know whether that is a good sign or a bad one,” he said tiredly, stooped under his load.

            “What do you mean?” Ashe looked over to him.

            “We’re moving towards our goal, but we’re also going into danger.” He lowered his voice. “We are drawing closer to Nan Dungortheb, the valley of dreadful death. We must keep quiet now, and be on the lookout for shadows that don’t make sense, and for webs.”

            Ashe nodded. Something in the air, something about that smell clutched at her heart, stopping her from asking questions. She continued on, leading the group downward.

            In the back, Kir stopped for a moment to sniff the air, and shivered. “It’s going to be a bad night,” he muttered.

            The wind continued to rise.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've had so much fun writing this fic, and I hope you are enjoying it! I can promise no regular updating schedule, although I have already written a significant amount of this story.  
> One thing I wanted to do was write in the margins of Tolkien's world. I have done my best to write a story that could fit into the canon of the Silmarillion. If you want to ask a question about the world-building, character names, where they are, why I'm interpreting x character x way, etc, in the comments, doing so would honestly make my day!


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